Not Like This
by harvincy
Summary: Post RE6. Chris takes time to figure out exactly what his feelings for Piers were, not realizing someone is trying to make their way to his side. M for M/M, language, and everything else I can't seem to leave out of my fics.
1. Eggs

1. Eggs.

All I wanted to do was make eggs. Just get something in my stomach. Not reminisce of overly-romanticized romps during a time of unparalleled war.

But that's exactly what I'm doing— Bent over the kitchen counter beside the stove, hands clamping onto the granite so tightly my knuckles are in danger of splitting, eyes squinted shut, lips pulled in a strained line.

_He had just finished calling me out on my bullshit, and not for the first time. But, unlike the other times, I snapped. Telling me how he felt sorry for those who died believing in me, bringing Finn into it... Piers found himself shoved against the filthy wall, my face mere centimeters from his. But he pushed right back, questioning me yet again. So I pinned him fiercely, my grip so tight it rivaled a BOW's._

_His breathing had always been steady, even in the face of monstrosities, but, at that moment, it hitched, becoming erratic; he was shocked but not moving, not pushing me away._

_I decided then and there that I wasn't going to let this feeling in my gut go. I wasn't going to let _**him **_go. An irrational coat draped over me and I slammed my lips to his without preamble like we both needed it to fucking survive. Looking back, maybe I did._

_We were still holding our guns in mirroring hands, but my free one had his empty one pinned above his head. And goddammit he was returning the kiss. I knew it— It wasn't just me. This kid— no, this _**man —**_had pulled me out of my self-exile, my own personal hell, and was continually holding a mirror to me, reminding me of who I was, who I could still be._

_And goddamn if I didn't love him for it._

_Whether it was hero worship, lust, need spurred by looming death, or actual care, I didn't know; I didn't care in the least what had Piers' lips moving so hungrily against my own or spurred his tongue into my mouth to duel with my own. I felt like I had to have him, more of him, had to be connected to him even more. Somehow. _

"_...somehow."_

_Piers' eyes were half-closed with lust even as he looked at me, puzzled. "What?"_

_How could I explain it? How could I explain falling so quickly and recklessly? Perhaps it was just hero worship on my part. 'Fuck it,' I thought. I spent so much time running; I wasn't going to run then._

"_I need you," I murmured, knowing how crazy, how utterly insane it sounded. There? Then? Amidst filth and death and a looming hopelessness that was getting harder and harder to shake? Yes, yes, and yes. _

_Bless him, Piers seemed to be filled with nothing but understanding. Maybe he knew what I was trying to say. Maybe he knew what I was silently begging. But we had too much on us for more than a quick fuck, which wasn't what I was looking for, ideally, but it was better than nothing. _

_Our hands had refused to drop our guns, which meant fumbling almost awkwardly with our flies. Thanks to Piers' earlier actions, mere kisses though they may have been, my cock was already hard, and I pulled it out how quickly as I could so I could help Piers get his pants down at least to his knees. Turning to face the dilapitated wall, Piers spread his legs as much as his clothing would allow. It was enough. _

"_I know it'll hurt," he said over his shoulder, addressing a concern I'd yet to voice. "But I want it."_

_Those were the magic words. I lined my cocked up with his entrance, trying my damnedest to go slow, but once I felt that tight heat begin to encompass me, it was almost impossible. _

_I rested my chin on his shoulder, right beside his neck, and entwined the fingers of our free hands together as I pinned him against the wall. "So good..." I breathed in his ear._

_For his part, Piers was doing his best to relax, trying to accommodate me as best as he could in the current situation, but there was no hiding the grunts of pain, the tensing through his muscles, the way his grip tightened in mine. _

_I kissed away a stray tear that slipped past his defenses. 'You deserve so much more than this,' I wanted to say. 'So much more than a screw against a wall in the middle of hell.' But I didn't say that; I fucked him instead. When I felt my balls rest against his ass, I pulled back, gently as I could, before sliding back in a bit roughly. _

_It wasn't enough. I picked up the motion of my hips as I kissed his neck, trying to convey care through the lust. I knew I loved him, even then I knew. And, _**somehow**_, I wanted to tell him that through our bodies, because saying it would ruin everything. At least, that's what I thought. _

_Who knew I could've said it then. I _**should've **_said it then. But I just kept thinking, 'Not now. Not like this.'_

_My hips began moving in quick snaps, my release coming all too quickly, all things considered. Although, maybe my body realized we were just in a bad place and needed to finish. Against rationale, I dropped my rifle, snaking my hand around to grab Piers' erection. Perhaps I should have let his hand go instead, but I refused to do so. My hand remained holding his and my lips remained moving against the side of his neck as he leaned his forehead against the brick before him, focusing on just breathing. _

_I was afraid he wouldn't climax, afraid he would walk away taking no pleasure whatsoever from our bizarre tryst. But little moans began escaping his lips when I angled my thrusts just a bit differently..._

I'm snapped back to reality by a stray drop of well over-heated butter popping from the frying pan and smacking me in the cheek. Shit. Eggs are almost black, and that was the last of the food in the house, too. Fuck. I wasn't looking to face the world today. Or tomorrow, for that matter.

But maybe it's best. Maybe it can clear my head. So I toss on a sweatshirt, slip on my boots, and head out to the beat-up red Chevy I bought on the cheap.

After losing Piers, I needed to break away from the world. But this self-imposed isolation is nothing like my prior one; this one is temporary. I swear it is. I just need time to clear my head before returning to work. The BSAA knows that after a few months, I'll be good as new.

Good as new... Brand new. With out Piers.

I need to stop thinking about him. A couple of badly-timed fucks and I'm acting like we _**had**_ something. Piers might not have even been... you know. He might've just been bending over for his Captain— literally. Dear Christ, did I take advantage of him?

I drive alongside a crystal clear lake in Podunk Nowhere, USA, the reflecting sun a starch contradiction to the dark thoughts I'm battling as I turn up the radio, trying desperately to drown out my inner voice.

Fuck, I _**did**_ take advantage of him, didn't I? But... no, I couldn't have...

_Little moans began escaping his lips when I angled my thrusts just a bit differently, finally hitting that sweet spot I'd been targeting. He threw his head back, turning to face me, seeking out my lips, our kiss being that of dancing tongues and clashing teeth. _

Was it all out of fear of death? Was that really all that spurred it on?

_My hand tightened slightly around his cock, pumping roughly in time to my quickening thrust, though the pace was almost too erratic to follow. "Chris..." my name spilled from his lips repeatedly like a debauched prayer and I thought I'd give anything to hear that every day of my life._

He wanted it. I didn't take anything he wasn't willing to give.

I finally arrive at the supermarket, thankful that such a thing exists in this small town; I could've wound up someplace with nothing but a 7/11 with a broken slurpee machine.

Throw the truck into park, step into the winter cool, take one step at a time into the building, grab up a hand basket, and just _**move**_. Just keep moving. No need to think. All I need is some eggs and maybe some bread and some shit like that and then I can leave. But I don't need to _**think**_. Thinking has just been getting me into trouble lately.

_Piers began thrusting back then, adding volume to the slapping of flesh. We could be caught, walked-in on, shot, anything; but I don't think either of us cared in that moment. _

No, he cared. He cared so fucking much. So fucking much that he just... That mission was everything to him. Everything. And I was part of that mission, so maybe that's why he... let me...

I grab a bunch of bananas and head to the dairy section. Why is this bothering me so badly? Because it's left wide open, unresolved? Or because I never looked at another man before in my life, much less went out of my way to risk rejection by kissing one? And there was never any talk of Piers being with another man, though I'd heard of one or two dates with a couple of girls.

_He was still moaning my name in between sloppy kisses, his own thrusting turned frantic, almost more than my own. _

That _**couldn't**_ have just been for my benefit, to keep me on course of the mission. There's no way. There was passion there. Even just in his kisses there was unbridled passion. Or maybe he himself was getting in one last romp before death?

Before death.

My hand starts shaking and I almost drop the package of eggs before I can set them down in my basket. I must be functioning on automatic because I don't even remember picking up the orange juice I'm carrying. I actually make myself focus and check the basket I'm carrying: bread, eggs, bananas, juice, cheese, some microwave dinners... I'll be fine for a few days.

I make my way up to one of the few check-out lanes, but not before passing the alcohol aisle. Abruptly, I stop. I want a beer. Badly. But then I think of Piers again, when he found me after six months, drunk off my ass.

I bypass the aisle altogether.

One of the lanes is empty, so I hop in it, my brain beginning to fade away again.

The woman scanning my items is middle aged, looks a bit like a pageant mom. She seems nice enough, but I'm in no mood for any interaction beyond saying 'have a nice day' and leaving.

"You're new here, aren't ya?"

Fuck. I have to talk. "Uh, yeah. Only been here a couple weeks."

"Thought so. Saw ya in here last week and wanted to say hi, but ya left so quick."

Like I want to do now. "Yeah, I'm on a bit of a vacation; just wanted some space to clear my head."

"Well," she smiles warmly, "I hope you find what you're looking for."

I hand over my card when she tells me the total and I catch her check my name.

"Chris Redfield. That's such a strong name. You know, we'd love it if you'd come to the festival this weekend."

"Festival?"

"Our winter festival. It's so much fun: food, music, dancing..."

I try to politely refuse, but I'm cut off.

"Oh, it'll be so wonderful! And, who knows? You may even make an acquaintance or two!" She none-too-subtly slips a flier in with my groceries. "I hope to see you there, Mr. Redfield."

I smile what I hope is something convincing, grab my bag, and hurry out into the crisp air, taking in a deep breath before shuffling to my truck. I shouldn't be this worked up, this anxious over nothing.

I speed home. Why did I think getting out of the house would help? And these thoughts... These thoughts _**keep **_going back to Piers, keep going back to everything he ever said to me. Christ, how can I remember every word?

The door slams shut behind me with a crack; probably shouldn't have kicked it close. But there's an anger building up in me now and I can't explain it. Anger at myself? No. No, it's directed at Piers. I'm angry at Piers for dragging me out of that shithole; angry at Piers for trying to build me back up; angry at Piers for letting me think there was more than just respect between us; angry at Piers for injecting himself; angry at Piers for staying behind.

Angry at Piers for thinking I was worth more than him. That I was more important to the mission than he was. Because that's what happened, wasn't it? That's what he was going to say before I cut him off, wasn't it?

I shove all the groceries, even the bread, into the fridge, forgoing lunch and stomping into the little bedroom, throwing myself onto the bed, praying my thoughts won't stay on Piers for just one fucking hour.

Christ. All I wanted was some eggs.


	2. Lights

Wow, y'all— Thanks so much for the nice words already! What started out as something to relieve my being pissed-off after playing Chris' campaign has actually gripped me, so... yeah, buckle up and we'll keep going.

And there's an OC ahead, but he's not hanging around, so don't worry. This is a Chris/Piers piece after all.

* * *

2. Lights.

I'm surprised at how well I can sleep. I don't know, I just thought I'd be bombarded with nightmares and bouts of tossing and turning the likes which would rival a puppy. But I just sleep. And when thoughts do penetrate my non-waking mind, they're actually pleasant.

_We had to stop. We were soldiers, but we weren't machines, and exhaustion has a way of gripping even the sturdiest man. The room was small, but contained two floodlights, which we placed right before the door— We could see out, but someone (or something) walking by would have a damned hard time seeing in._

_Relaxing against the wall, we stretched-out our legs, wanting nothing more than to pinch ourselves and realize it was all a terrible illusion. _

"_Captain..." Piers spared a glance in my direction, a question sitting there right behind his eyes, wanting to be asked._

"_I think, at this point, you can just call me Chris."_

"_What about 'Mr. Redfield'?"_

_I caught his smirk and chuckled. "I'll spare you the old joke about how Mr. Redfield was my father. Just... Chris." After hearing him say it while I had him pinned against the wall, I wanted to hear him say it all the time, even if it wasn't in the form of a moan. "What did you want to ask, Piers?"_

_He shifted slightly, almost too subtle to spot, but I did. He was nervous. "I..." He stopped himself._

"_Piers. C'mon." We'd been through too much for him to shut me out already._

_But he didn't say anything, choosing to instead set his gun aside, push up from the wall, and throw his leg over my lap, straddling my hips. There was no immediate action after that; we just stared at each other, not breaking contact, but asking for nothing. We were content to simply study each other, as if we both needed to see something in the other's eyes._

_Again... again, again, again, we knew how stupid it was to turn our focus away from the world for even a moment, but we were so far entrenched in hell already— what would stealing one more moment for ourselves hurt?_

_Finally moving again, he removed one glove, his hand coming to rest gently on my cheek. He kept it still, our warmth shared by that point of skin on skin. I didn't move. I felt like a hunter watching a deer, wanting so badly to claim the prize but knowing how easily I could scare it away. _

_A prize? Did I really think of him as a 'prize?' Well, not in the sense that he was something to be owned, just... Whoever he decided to love, they would most assuredly be bestowed with a gift._

_Piers' hand moved, his fingers trailed down the side of my face, tracing my jaw. I leaned into the touch, but my eyes never left his. 'More,' I wanted to say. 'You can do so much more, claim so much more.' _

_His hand left my face to remove his other glove so that both hands rested on the sides of my face, traveling down to push underneath my collar. Despite his digits wandering my skin, I couldn't tear my eyes from his; it was as if I was seeing colour for the first time, and the only colour that existed was a mix of green and gold and it was beautiful._

_It was beautiful. How could something so beautiful be sitting there in such... such shit? _

"_Touch me." The words were small, so quiet, but so resolute. _

_My brow furrowed, almost not sure of what I'd heard._

_Piers' hands made their way back to my face. "Touch me. Anywhere. I just need your hands on me."_

_I'd been so afraid of scaring him away, I'd remained motionless. As if by magic, my hands rose, slowly, until they, too, were gloveless and finding a resting place on his cheeks, reveling in the smoothness there._

"_I've never been able to grow a beard," he murmured, a blush coating his features._

_I don't know what expression I wore, but I whispered, "Beautiful..." and ran a thumb over his bottom lip, soaking in the slight close of his eyes as I did so. Kissing his jaw, I removed his __shemagh and let my body take over for my brain as my lips and tongue tasted their way down his neck, nipping at his collarbone._

_Then I heard it. My name moaned again. _

_I had to hear it again._

My alarm pulls me from a recurring dream, though I fight to stay asleep longer. Nothing doing. I kick the covers from my sweating form— can't say my heater doesn't work —and make my way stiffly to the kitchen, which, in actuality, is only about three feet from my bedroom.

I know I refer to the place as a house, but it's really the size of a tiny apartment, which suits me just fine, as I like to pretend that it's so small that no pain can fit in these walls.

That's bullshit, of course.

Should I try making eggs again? I didn't get out of bed for almost two days; I really need something to eat. Although, that's how I got in my bad mood in the first place. I've been stuck in a cycle since I've been here. I'll sleep for two days, get up feeling like I need something to eat, daydream and ruin the food, and sulk my way back into bed.

Maybe this isolation wasn't the best idea. But everything back home reminds me of him. Although, here isn't much better; things may not physically remind me of him, but my thoughts have so much freedom to roam that they keep betraying me and sending me into an unwanted spiral of anger and mourning. And confusion.

Closure. Maybe that's what my problem is. I was never given the opportunity for closure. I was so certain that Piers was immortal, so certain that if either of us wasn't going to make it, it would be me. So of course I didn't take the time to analyze what was going on at the time. If I could, I would've done something, said something, anything to find out if he felt... the same...

I'm not even sure how exactly _**I**_ felt. Was it... _**love**_? Did I really find love with a younger man amidst all of that destruction? How? How had it never happened before? All of my lovers had been women; I'd had girlfriends. So why did this suddenly swallow me whole and spit me out more confused and angry than anything I'd ever faced before?

Fuck all of it. Just fuck it. God damn all of it— literally. Damn it all somewhere far, far away where I'll never have to deal with it again.

I reach into the fridge and snatch at the bag I shoved in there Thursday. Pulling out the items, I come across the flier for the Winter Festival on Saturday. Today's Saturday.

Hm. I've already said fuck it all. Why shouldn't I go?

* * *

Showered. Shaved a bit. Put on jeans and a button-up shirt that were actually washed today. Even splashed on some cologne.

Watch out, world— Chris Redfield's back among the living.

The festival is set-up in a large field just off the main drag of road that was dubbed "main street." The whole town's here, unsurprisingly, seeing as there's nothing else to do and I get the feeling this is somewhat of a town tradition.

My boots crunch through the snow as I shove one hand in my pocket and use the other to draw my jacket tighter around me. I know no one and have no connections to this place; why am I here again?

There's booths of food and games everywhere around me, encircling a thirty foot Christmas tree, which is lit to the point of being comically bright and hard to look at directly.

The lights. Everywhere lights, almost blinding me to the world around me.

"Chris! Mr. Redfield!"

My head snaps to the right and I'm greeted by the woman from the market. What did her name tag say? Janice? Janet? "Evening, Joyce." Please be Joyce.

Her smile lets me know I remembered correctly. "Let me tell you, it is so good to see you out here, mingling with us natives. How're you enjoying our little town so far?"

I tell the truth. "It's quiet, which is exactly what I was looking for. And I've never met nicer folk."

Joyce keeps smiling. I can sense she knows something, knows that I'm out here running away from something. "Let me introduce you to my son Kyle, Chris. He's almost thirty— much closer to your age than I am.

I don't think I'm up for this, up for meeting someone else. Although, if I don't, why did I even come out here? I'm about to turn tail and run when Joyce gently takes my hand and directs me towards the gigantic Christmas tree. The much-too bright Christmas tree.

"Kyle! There you are. I want you to meet Chris Redfield. He's new, staying here for a while. Thought you two might have something in common." With a knowing smile and a swift pat to my arm, Joyce is gone, leaving me staring at a figure silhouetted against the tree.

Did I mention the tree was way too bright?

I'm squinting against the lights before me, trying to make out any part of the man before me.

"So you've met the famous Joyce Smithers of Woodsford." While I can't see Kyle's face, I can certainly here the smile. "Sorry about her. She likes to... what's the word?"

"Meddle?" I offer, hoping he can see my smile though I can't see his.

A laugh. Good. I didn't offend him, only added to the conversation. "Yes, meddle; that's the perfect word for her favorite hobby. I'll try not to do the same, but, per the rules of what should happen during the first conversation when two people meet, I'm probably going to end up asking you what you're doing here." He laughs again; it's slightly melodic, "I mean, man, how in the hell did you wind-up here in Woodsford of all places? You could've gone... _**anywhere**_ else, couldn't you?"

My grin widens. "Suppose so. Honestly? I drove 'til I ran out of gas."

"You're shittin' me."

"I shit you not."

"Jesus. Who did you fuck over in a past life to wind-up here?" He's joking, trying to convey that he knows just how small his town is, but he catches me wince and immediately rolls into an apology, "Hey, man, sorry; I wasn't trying to dig anything up. Your business is your own."

"No, it's alright, really." Of course I'm not going to voice the fact that I didn't fuck anyone over in a past life— I fucked someone over in _**this**_ life.

But Kyle knows, knows that I'm not shirking the conversation, just open to a topic change. And he does change it: "So you said you drove 'til you ran out of gas; what hunk of steal brought you here?"

"Ah, thank god. Topic I like. "Picked up a rusty '72 Chevy Cheyenne."

"You're shittin' me again! That was my first truck, passed down from my dad." At that, Kyle finally steps away from the tree and moves to my left, changing from a mere shadow to an actual man. And he's still talking, asking me something, but my mind suddenly reels and I can't focus on his words.

He looks like him. Like _**him**_. Christ, how... The broad features (especially that nose), the hair, the smooth cheeks, the eyes... Thank god the eyes aren't as golden as _**his**_ or I'd be in trouble. And his lips aren't quite as full. Good. I don't need to be staring at his lips.

"Chris?" He looks concerned now, completely aware of my spacing out.

Snap out of it, Chris. Snap the hell out of it. "It's parked on the main strip. Come check it out. I'm telling you though: It's very far from fetching."

Kyle's face lights up like he's just been given a gift. "Lead the way, Mr. Redfield."

I do indeed lead the way, trying very hard not to spare very obvious glances at the man striding beside me. Why in fuck does he have to look like _**him**_? And why is it exciting me so much?

No. No. Does that mean I only liked Piers for his looks? No. If that was the case, wouldn't I have been attracted to another man before Piers? Maybe I'm only excited because it's as if Piers was spared and he's here beside me now...

I've gotta stop thinking about this.

"Here she is!" I wave dramatically as Kyle runs a hand almost lovingly across the hood.

"How long are you here?" He asks, but it's almost too soft to hear, and I strain to catch any kind of dip in his tone to guess what his intentions are.

"I'm... I'm not sure, actually." I'm really not sure. But I do know it won't be six months. "Just a couple of months at the most."

Kyle's expressions is borderline wicked and he winks. "Let's fix it up. I can get whatever we need. But I have a feeling you deserve to ride out of here in something that resembles a vehicle much more than this does."

His mood's infectious and my lips move of their own accord, my voice spilling from them without my bidding. "Absolutely."

* * *

I bid Kyle goodnight after agreeing to meet up with him the next morning. I'm suddenly exhausted, much more so than I've been the past few weeks.

The gravel crunches almost gratifyingly underfoot as I trudge to my front door, which... is... unlocked...

Seriously? Fucking Woodsford has a break-in problem? There's only, what?, a dozen people here?

Christ almighty, like I need this.

I pull my sidearm from his holster and quietly enter, back to the wall. But the apartment's so small that I can see the intruder the moment my foot hits the carpet. "Leon?"

Kennedy's lounging on my loveseat, tv casting a glow across the otherwise dark room, but I can still see the downcast eyes and weary expressions he's trying to get rid of. "How're you doing, Chris?"

"How am I doing?" Reholstering the gun, I move to stand before him. "You break into my home that I purposely made sure was off the grid and all you're asking me how I'm doing?"

Leon's not one for preambles and I'm thankful for that. Except now. Except for now when he's suggesting that I sit, that I really need to pay attention to his explanation, that I really need act rationally.

But I can only focus on three of his words. He's saying a thousand, but there's only three that seem to have any meaning, only three that feel as if they've any weight.

"We have him."


	3. Restorations

Incredible support from you guys. *sniff* Thanks!

And I doodled this (based on a review) during a meeting that I probably should've been paying more attention in this afternoon: fav . me / d5irzxk (remove spaces, obviously)

Let's get to it.

* * *

3. Restorations.

Leon gave up on me about an hour ago. He's still here, trying to throw something together in the kitchen, but he's stopped knocking on my bedroom door and calling my name.

Me? I've got thoughts. A lot of them. But they're in a whirlwind, and none of them are settling down long enough for me to examine them and try to make sense of what Leon said seven hours ago.

Pushing myself up from the disheveled state of my bed, I slam the door open to reveal Leon trying to make an omelet with only three ingredients that were probably left here from the previous owners.

"_**Where**_ is he?" My voice cracks as I ask the question for, quite literally, the hundredth time.

Leon answers it for the hundredth time, his original patience from seven hours ago still intact, "Tall Oaks Cathedral."

"Bullshit," I respond as I have every time he's replied. "I heard that place was condemned."

"Who do you think leaked that report?" he's not even looking at me now, that's how much like clockwork this conversation has become. Slipping his omelet from the frying pan to a plate, Leon attempts to sit at the two-seater dining table, but I kick the chair out from under him before he gets the chance.

"Why?"

"Your own people would have him killed if they found out he was alive and infected."

"Bullshit."

"Want to test the theory?"

"So who knows about him?"

"Helena, Jake, and me." He's eating while he stands, completely unfazed by the rivulets of heat that are flowing from my form, spurred by anger. He was a lot more concerned hours ago.

"Bullshit. Jake? Jake's helping him?"

"Some people want redemption, Chris. Some people want to find a way to do some good sometimes."

"Bullshit!" I slam my fists onto the small wooden table as I crash down into the chair left standing, burying my face in my hands.

I can hear Leon standing up the other chair and sitting opposite me, sympathy creeping back into his voice as he murmurs, "I didn't want you to find out about Piers, not like this, but I have no choice; I'm going to need your help with him soon."

"Whaddaya mean?" I mumble through palms still plastered to my face.

"He's..." Kennedy's voice fades in such a way that I part my fingers to glance at his expression. He looks pained. "He's going to need care, Chris. A lot of it. And we can't keep him hidden. I thought..."

"That I'd take him in?" My hands finally slip down to the table, my fingers splayed across the fading wood. _Of course. Absolutely. I wouldn't have him go anywhere else. _"What's the catch?"

"No one can know."

I don't know why I'm suddenly feeling the need to be defensive. I _**want**_ this, _**want**_ to be the one to take care of Piers.

Why am I suddenly putting on an act? Leon can see right through it, I'm sure. "That's a large order, Kennedy."

"I know." He's forgotten his breakfast, clasping his hands before him, leveling me with a knowing stare. "That's why you're the only one I can ask, the only one I _**would **_ask."

Does he know? About me and Piers? No. There's no way he could know—

"You were his Captain. He followed you to hell and back and there again. You were the last person he saw before he almost sacrificed himself. Of course I'm going to ask you first."

Ah. There it is. I was his _**Captain**_. "Why don't you contact any of his family?"

"No one can know he survived. If anyone were to find out..." He trails off again, picking up his fork again, shoving the eggs around the plate as if to spell out what he's trying to say. "You're the only one to be trusted with this."

"You realize if I say 'yes' to this— and I'm not saying I am —I have to leave the BSAA. I have to leave my home, my family. I have to leave everything."

He shoves far too much in his mouth, forcing him to just nod and not actually verbally acknowledge that what I'm saying is true. He chews quickly, swallowing with an audible gulp. "I won't tell you anymore unless I know you'll agree. I shouldn't have told you where he was until you did."

_Of fucking course I'll take him in! Of fucking course I'll help him! _"Sure. Hell, the kid saved my life more than once. Least I could do is help him out now."

Leon shoves another large bite into his mouth and mumbles through the food, seemingly hoping that I won't ask him to repeat what he's said.

"What did you just say?"

"It's more than just helping him do a few menial tasks every now and then. He's going to need 24 hour care for a long time."

"I just said I'll do it!" Jesus, calm down, Chris. He doesn't seem to know you fucked your subordinate. Pushing away from the table, I hurry outside, the cold air feeling like a smack when it hits me.

Leon's footsteps aren't so light that I don't hear him coming. "Chris? I didn't press this last night, but what's going on? There's something you're not telling me."

"Something _**I'm**_ not telling _**you**_? Fucking hell, Leon..."

"Alright, alright. You're right."

I take two deep breaths, my pulse feeling as if it's powering a jackhammer, and turn to face Leon. "When can I get him?"

"When he's conscious. When we feel he's physically able to leave."

"Alright. Understandable. I'll just go back with you and wait."

"That's the other catch: You can't ever go to the cathedral."

If I were a cartoon, I'd double-over like I've been hit in the stomach with a giant boxing glove. Instead, all I can do is stare at Kennedy as if he's suddenly mutated into a talking cucumber with a ukelele fetish. Oh, and growl, "_What_?"

Leon actually takes a step back at my obvious rage. "Chris. Calm down. Think about how I found you so easily. I asked around: _**No one**_would tell me where you went; and the people who would didn't know. I did a couple of hacks, found out the BSAA tagged you."

"Bullshit" has become my favorite word and I say it again.

"Look, they know where you are. If you go to Tall Oaks, they'll find out; and they might find Piers. Don't risk that."

I know he's coming from a good place, but I keep pressing him with questions I've asked too many times already. "Why wait 'til now to do this if I can't even see him?"

He pauses far too long. "We needed to make sure he'd survive. I couldn't risk telling you and then... I couldn't do that to you."

Yeah, I know. I'm far too fragile, it seems. But, I know he's coming from a good place. And... Piers is alive. Alive and coming to _**me**_. Soon. At some point.

A cell phone is suddenly shoved in my hand. "It's a secure line," Leon explains. "When we're ready to drop him off, we'll let you know. I'll explain more then, too." Suddenly, he's off to a black rental car nearby.

"Kennedy," I call after him, "I'm still not sure what the hell you've done... but thanks."

With a swift nod, he gets in the car and speeds off, leaving me more confused than when I first arrived in Woodsford.

* * *

"Second car was an Oldsmobile that I had to keep replacing the damn struts on. Don't ask me how or why, but the fuckin' thing basically ate struts."

"That's expensive as hell."

"Tell me about it!" Kyle wipes a bead of sweat from his brow and leans back over the engine of my Cheyenne, muttering something about a coolant leak. "Then, like clockwork, the a/c would go out on the first day of summer every year." He chuckles, adding, "Fuckin' loved that piece of shit."

We've been working on the truck for a good four hours now and I'm not sure if we've made any progress or not. I'm pretty clueless when it comes to cars, which is something I've always been self-conscious about but never remedied. But Kyle doesn't seem to care, doesn't even seem to notice. And he's good company. We've drifted between different subjects, even some that I normally never touch (religion, heavy politics, best decade for rock), and he finally let's the hood of the truck drop with a slam.

"That's good enough for right now. You do need a couple of minor parts, but, in truth, she's pretty stable. Some interior restoration, coat of paint... You'll have yourself quite the lady magnet, Mr. Redfield." He slaps my back jovially and begins gathering his tools, hopefully not catching the hot blush that immediately paints my cheeks and travels down my neck.

"Yeah," I cough. "Great."

"Is it okay if I come back tomorrow? We'll start sandin' her down, get her ready for the new paint."

God, he looks so much like _**him**_. "Yeah. If you hang around long enough, I'll have some dinner for us, too."

He shakes my hand, that sly grin returning. "Deal. See ya tomorrow, Redfield." Sets his tool box in the bed of his Tundra and pulls off, back to town.

And I'm smiling after him. Why the fuck am I smiling after him? Well... I _**did**_ have a good time with him, actually. And it got my mind off of... everything else.

Entering the house, I pull out the phone Leon gave me in the early morning and check it, eyes not leaving the screen until I'm 100% convinced that I haven't missed a call.

I need a shower.

My clothes drop in various spots along the hall as I strip on my way to the small bathroom. By the time I reach the shower, I switch on the water and step in, welcoming the cold blast that snaps me to attention.

_Kissing his jaw, I removed his __shemagh and let my body take over for my brain as my lips and tongue tasted their way down his neck, nipping at his collarbone. Then I heard it. My name moaned again. _

_I had to hear it again. _

"_So beautiful," I whispered again against his skin; his flesh tasted so sweet when it was revealed to me as I began unbuttoning as much of his fatigues as I possibly could. His skin was smooth everywhere, and my fingers couldn't get enough of tracing maps across his chest, memorizing every inch, every piece of the puzzle that was the man in my lap._

_His breath hitched when my tongue crossed a nipple. I'd never done that before; hell, I'd never done any of it with another man. But there was something about Piers' reaction to the motion that had be entranced. I did it again. Again. Again._

_My lips latched onto the peaked nub, teasing it with the tip of my tongue before pulling back and blowing on it, only to continue the assault with my teeth, nipping lightly and even biting at some points._

_His back arched, his hands grabbed at my neck, and my name kept coming to the surface through his panting; his voice shot straight to my cock._

I'm remembering everything like I always do: as if it happened yesterday. Just thinking about him gives me an erection. Christ, I haven't even touched myself since... _**it**_ happened. And right now I feel as horny as an adolescent. It won't hurt to rub one out...

_My fascination with Pier's chest was not letting up, so he had to practically pry himself from my mouth. I was about to protest when he scooted backwards on his knees, settling between my thighs as his fingers made quick work of my pants' fly, slipping those deft fingers inside and coming across my arousal._

My fingers slip around my cock as I rest my forehead against the shower wall, the spray of water shooting from the shower-head and pounding my back.

_Piers wasted no time in freeing my erection, leaning forward only to experimentally lick the head, his tongue playing momentarily with the slit. _

_It was then my turn to moan _**his**_ name, my fingers tangling in his short hair, trying desperately not to simple thrust upward into those full lips. _

_But he took pity on me; maybe he realized we just didn't have too much time for teasing. His lips wrapped around the head of my cock and began an agonizingly slow plunge downwards, that wet heat wrapping around me and sending me into a state of frenzy._

My hand picks up speed as it moves up and down along my arousal, pulling small pants from me.

_Piers smiled around my cock; I could feel it. He took just as much pleasure from giving it as I was from receiving it. Even with his hands on my thighs, I starting to slowly buck upwards, seeking out more and more of what he could give me. _

_I was getting close. Too close. _

_I didn't want it to end so soon, but it seemed as though I had no choice. Piers had to have done this before; he was too good at it._

My hand's flying up and down my dick now, my mind seeing nothing but Piers between my legs.

"Fuck..." Goddammit I'm close.

A loud ringing of bells emanates from the kitchen and I know immediately what it is: Leon's phone.

Forgoing my jerk-off session, I sprint from the shower and race into the kitchen, sliding to grab the phone but tripping and landing on my back in the process.

In truth, I didn't have to rush. It's just a text from Leon, stating: 'You'll need a bigger place. And don't forget to call your employers.'

Goddammit, Leon. Really?

I remain on the floor, too tired and angry to move.

The bells of the phone sound again, but I toss it behind me into the living room.

Leon's pissed me off enough for one 24-hour span.

But. But it could be about Piers. Did Leon even have enough time to get back to Tall Oaks?

Hastily, I scramble to my feet, jogging into the living and scooping up the phone, flicking it open, coming face to face with: 'Heard from Helena. He's been drifting awake. Get things ready.'

Maybe Kyle would know some places for sale?


	4. Stars

4. Stars.

"Tell me again why I'm helping you do this?"

"Because you know an incredible 'thank you' dinner is in your near future if you do."

"Oh yeah. Thanks for the reminder." Kyle pulls his truck up to a two-story farmhouse and throws it into park. "You plannin' on staying, then?"

I'm not sure how to answer the question because, frankly, I have no idea. I haven't spoken with anyone at the BSAA, or Claire for that matter, and I'm not sure if Piers will ever be able to mingle amongst regular society again. "Thinking about it. Your town's won me over with its loads of charm."

Kyle chuckles. "Bullshit. But whatever, it'll be nice to have another guy around that's not a lawyer or whose idea of a good time is shooting tobacco into soup cans."

My brow wrinkles through a laugh. "Shooting tobacco into soup cans?"

"Oh, you'll experience it soon enough. Let's go check this place out."

Small towns often have small town mentalities— which is _**not**_ a bad thing. It's actually quite a convenient thing right now. Since everyone knows everyone, Woodsford only real estate agent gave Kyle the keys to the house so we could check it out whenever we wanted instead of waiting on her, which means I'll be spared all the typical upselling crap.

We step inside and I can already tell I'll be buying the place. It's not so much that it's _**nice**_ looking (it is, though), but it's functional. If Piers is in a wheelchair, there's room to maneuver freely. And the kitchen's four times the size of the one I have now, which is a selfish plus for me.

"Den, dining room, breakfast nook, colonial kitchen with functional island (whatever the hell that means exactly), an office, and spare bedroom; and that's just the first floor," Kyle reads from the paper the realtor handed him with the keys. "Shall we see the second?"

I lead the way, taking the stairs two at a time, stopping at the top landing.

Kyle slides past me and heads to the right. "There's two bedrooms up here: the master and a guest. I guess. Are you looking for spare rooms to house visitors or is someone meeting you here?"

There's the barest hitch in his question, but I ignore it before I read far too much into it. "Someone's meeting me here." Kid's nice; I can tell him the truth.

Most of it.

"Hm. He crosses his arms and leans against the nearby door frame. "Let me guess: You were in a long-term relationship with a woman, started feeling a bit claustrophobic, ran, and now she's coming out here with you to try to make it work?"

"So close!"

"Really?"

"No. Not at all."

Those hazel eyes hold my gaze intently before he sighs melodramatically, "Alright, Redfield. Remain the enigma that you are." He pushes up from the wall and walks by me, back downstairs.

I can't give him specifics, but I can say something. "He was one of my men on the last tour I did as a Captain with the BSAA." I just can't give a name. "He was wounded, presumed dead, but he was found and basically brought back from the dead."

Kyle's frozen on the steps, taking in my words.

"He doesn't have any family," I go on. "He's supposedly banged-up pretty bad, so I'm taking him in, caring for him. Figured this would be a good place to do that."

He's still just standing there, staring at me, but finally a smile spreads across his face. "C'mon, Redfield. Let's go start sanding down that truck of yours."

My cheeks are flushed. Again. Christ, what is it about this kid? I follow him back outside and into the truck. "That was quick," I grin. "You didn't even let me look around."

"You're taking that place. Trust me. Your only other option is a barn and you really don't strike me as a barn kind of guy."

"Really?" I relax into the seat, crossing my legs and folding my hands across my stomach, the breeze drifting inside from the rolled-down windows and washing across my face. "What kind of guy do I strike you as?" It sounds a bit more flirtatious than I want it to, but I can't really help it. Goddammit.

He chuckles instead of answering. I find that we laugh a lot, which is something I'm really not used to. It's almost... freeing. It's freeing being around Kyle. Even my corniest jokes get a good response, though sometimes it's in the form of a light-hearted ribbing.

We spend the rest of the fifteen minute ride mostly in silence, though not an uncomfortable one. We decided to split-up when we get home: He's only got one electric sander and the noise is so loud that holding a conversation is impossible, so I leave him to it and go inside to start dinner.

I'd hit up the grocery before he picked me up to go looking at the only house available for sale, so I dig the ingredients out of the fridge and the cabinets and begin trying to remember how to make jambalaya.

Depending upon my mood, I can zone-out when I cook, which is what has apparently happened. I'm humming, tossing some more cubed ham into the pot and sprinkling another pinch of dried thyme over the steaming ingredients, and I actually jump when Kyle appears right beside me, bending over the stove to took a large whiff of the meal.

"That smells incredible, Redfield. You didn't strike me as a chef." He's too close, and his scent hits me like a hammer.

"I, uh, I wouldn't go tossing out complements until you've actually tasted it."

He stares at me expectantly. "Well?"

"Oh, um." I feel utterly clueless, like I'm going to need a map just to navigate the rest of this evening. Using the wooden stirring spoon I'm still holding, I scoop out a bit, holding it out to him.

Apparently he was just waiting for me to hand it to him so he could feed himself, because the look he gives me is almost incredulous.

But he takes the offered food anyway and I'm helpless to merely watch as what should be a mechanical act is dancing along the line of being sensual. "Delicious."

God help me. This was a mistake. This whole evening was a mistake. "Why don't we go eat outside? It's a nice night." My back is suddenly facing Kyle as I snatch up plates and silverware, battling with my new nemesis: blushing. A grown, hardened man of war should in no way ever have to battle with blushing.

We fix our plates, grab some beers, and drag the kitchen chairs outside to the front porch, just in time to watch the sky shift through hues of orange and purple as the sun sets.

"I never get tired of the sunset," Kyle comments absently as he starts shoveling his food away. "I will say, the one thing I do love about living out here is that the obscene amount of lights a city can house never get in the way of a night-sky. The stars are always out in droves, nothing distracts from sunset... It's pretty great."

"Yeah, I've noticed. I have to admit that I've never really taken the time to just... star-gaze, I guess; not until I moved out here, anyway."

"Ah, wait until you get the opportunity to dance under a sky like this; it'll lead to all sorts of debauchery."

"Yeah, no. Not a dancer." I crack open a beer and take a large swig. "I don't think I've ever danced in my life, actually."

"Whaddaya mean you don't dance? You've _**never danced**_?" He looks borderline scandalized, which sends me into a laughing fit. "I don't see what's so funny about this."

"You're acting like this is extremely important!"

"It _**is**_ extremely fucking important!" Setting his plate down, he jumps to his feet, extending a hand towards me.

I merely continue with my dinner, acting as if I don't notice him.

"Up, Redfield."

"I prefer to eat sitting down, thanks."

Without warning, the plate is yanked from my hands and I'm being pulled to my feet and dragged into the middle of the front yard.

Kyle places one of my hands where his waist meets his hip and he puts one of his own hands on my shoulder. Our other hands find themselves tangled together. We start dancing. We're _**dancing**_. Why in hell are we dancing? And waltzing, at that. I'm Chris Fucking Redfield: I kill BOWs and take down evil masterminds; I do not waltz with other men.

But I am. I am and I'm doing nothing to stop it. And there's a smile trying to break out across my face despite how hard I'm trying to fight it.

Kyle sees it, too. "It's fun, isn't it?"

"I don't know if 'fun' is the word I would actually use for what this is."

His face inches closer to mine. "What would you use, then?"

Sensual. Arousing. Hot as hell. There's something indescribable about being so close to someone knowing that nothing else can happen. We're out in the open, I'm waiting for Piers, he's a straight good ole country boy— Nothing's going to come of something that's slipped into intimate territory.

"So," he murmurs, "this teammate of yours that's coming here— He like family?"

Oh, I caught that dip in your tone, Kyle. You're probing for something. "Yeah, you could say that."

"That's it?"

Who knows? I have no idea. Even if I keep delving through all these little thoughts and instances of our last few days together, how am I to know what Piers even felt about anything? "What do you really want to ask, Kyle?"

"Would it be alright if I kiss you right now?"

Shit. Goddammit. No, no, it would _**not**_ be okay. "Well, we've got the stars and the dancing; kissing seems like a natural add-in." What is wrong with me?

Kyle takes over, his lips finding mine almost as soon as I finish speaking. He's soft, but aggressive, and it's everything I can do not to drop to my knees from the sensation.

But I hear the bells again, though the chime is slightly different this time. Pulling away slightly, I retrieve Leon's phone from my pocket and check it over Kyle's shoulder; I missed a message from a earlier. How could I have missed it?: 'Hitch in plans. We'll be there tomorrow, regardless of whether or not you've got a new place.'

He's coming. Tomorrow. Piers is coming here tomorrow.

And here I am with a doppelganger in my arms and it sounds like he's asking me if he can stay.

I'm trying to make myself say 'no,' trying to make myself turn him away.

Piers is coming here tomorrow.

So why am I still kissing someone else?

* * *

A/N: I promise this is Chris/Piers. Promise.


	5. Arrival

Quick question: I tend to keep chapters short (3-5 pages), but I update right about every other day. Would you rather longer chapters less frequently?

* * *

5. Arrival.

It doesn't feel right; as a matter of fact, it's very obviously wrong. That first wave that would have knocked me off my feet faded far too quickly, leaving something dark and empty.

I pull away as if I've been stung. "Shit. I... I'm sorry..."

For his part, Kyle looks a little disappointed, but he clears his throat and murmurs, "This guy must mean a lot more to you than you realize."

"Yeah. Yeah, he does." I say "I'm sorry" again, but this time it's to Piers, as if he's next to me watching the whole thing.

"It's okay," he seems adamant about not letting it turn awkward, but it is, and there's no fixing it at the current juncture; at least not that I can see. "I should've known better. I could see something in you when you spoke of him; I feel a bit like I took advantage of you."

"I led you on."

"It," he pauses, running his fingers through is hair. "It was just a kiss. Nothing more."

But it should have never happened. Not even a peck.

Kyle's shifting his weight from foot to foot, obviously waiting for me to say something else, but the only thing I can even think to say is "I'm sorry" over and over again and it wouldn't even be directed to him.

"Alright then," he claps his hands together and begins backing towards his truck. "Dinner was great. I'll let you know when I get paint for the Cheyenne." He trips a bit before he can get to the truck and fling the door open. "Night, Chris."

"Night," I try to say, but my throat's so dry that I'm not sure it's even audible. So I just watch the Tundra speed away before I pick up our dishes from the porch and trudge inside.

"Well, that was a royal mess. And I'm talking to myself now. Fuckin' A." I all but throw the dishes in the sink and do what I've been doing when the urge to sulk overtakes me: I head to the bedroom.

Kyle's a nice guy, I'll give him that. But I didn't go to hell and back with him; I did that with Piers. Kyle didn't pull me out of a self-pity exile; Piers did. Kyle didn't force me to reexamine crucial moments of my life; Piers did.

Piers made me realize that, even in the darkest times, there's always something to cling to, something to hope for, something to love.

And he's alive! He's alive and coming to me tomorrow.

How could I have done that to him? How could I have done that to the man who was willing to give everything for me?

Never again. Never again.

* * *

_Piers lips were tight around my cock, his tongue flattening and running up the underside of my length every time he bobbed his head._

_I wasn't going to last, not as talented as he was. Grabbing at his shoulders, I pull his face up to mine, my lips wanting nothing more than to feel his again. I'd never felt a kiss like his before; there was something laying beneath the surface of the act that fueled something ravenous within me._

_My hands fumbled with his pants, hastily trying to free him. If it weren't the setting we found ourselves in, it might have actually been funny._

_But he helped me, pulling away to slide his pants down to his boots, and I helped him turn around in my lap so that his back was to my chest and my arousal was resting against his ass. _

_There was nothing to ease my way in and there was no time to go slow. Lining myself with his entrance, I slid inside, pushing past the resistance that met me._

_Piers stiffened in my arms, clenching almost unbearably around my cock as I pulled him flush against me, kissing his neck. _

_We stayed that way for a brief moment as Piers tried to relax, tried to accommodate me. But I couldn't wait. I began bucking upwards, arms still wrapped around his torso, lips still seeking contact with his skin. _

_Then Piers took over, reaching behind to place his hands on my chest, using it as leverage to ride me. _

"_Fuck, Piers..." My head lolled back, just letting the sensation of that tight heat rising and falling on my cock overtake me. _

_He glanced back and the way my name fell from his lips was almost a plea; I knew what he wanted. I let one of my hands travel down to his member, wrapping my fingers around him tightly, stroking him urgently. _

_The floodlights at the entrance to the room may have made it hard for anything to see in, but they certainly would have been able to hear our litany of moans and profanities that filled the room unbidden. _

_Piers' riding became erratic as he tried to find release for both of us. I was so close that all it took was feeling Piers' seed cover my hand and his body tightening around my cock for me to shoot my release deep into him. _

_Our breathing was heavy as we tried to collect ourselves. Piers looked back, seeking out a final kiss before we separated._

_There was something about his kisses. Borderline perfect. _

* * *

It's not that I have much in the way of furniture, nor did I bring much with me out here to Podunk Nowhere, USA, but I just don't have time to get into the new place before Piers arrives. So I have to make do with what I've got; which means I just start cleaning everything. Twice. My loveseat's a foldout, so I figure I'll just sleep on that and Piers can take the bedroom until the sale on the new house goes through.

And I'm cleaning again. And I'm using far too much bleach for it to be safe. I'm beginning to feel dizzy, actually. Sitting on the bed, I reach over to the nearby window and slide it open, taking a deep breath of the cool air that's begun wafting inside. It's going to snow again today. Not that it has any bearing on anything, but it'll be a nice backdrop for the day.

The phone Leon gave me hasn't left my pocket, and I'm constantly pulling it out and checking it. Nothing. Even now I'm staring at the screen, just as I stared at it all night after Kyle left. No, I didn't sleep; merely held the phone and stared at it.

I check my watch again. 3:28pm. I've been wandering around aimlessly cleaning things with bleach for 19 hours. I just need to see Piers. Once I see him, see the proof that he's truly alive, hold him... I just need to see _**him**_.

But I hear something. I know that sound. That's the sound of tires crunching over the gravel in my front yard. It can't be Kyle. We haven't spoken since the awkwardness that was last night; he wouldn't just show up now, would he?

Hoping against hope, I spring from the bed and bolt to the front door, throwing it open so hard that it flies back and leaves a dent in the wall.

But it's not Kyle's truck that's in my driveway; it's Leon's rental car.

Christ. This is it. He's here. _**He's**_ here. Piers. My heart jumps to my throat and my legs begin wobbling. This is it.

It's almost as if I'm watching in slow motion as Leon gets out of the car and nods to me, rounding to the passenger side and opening the door. Slowly, much too slowly, the door's opened and a figure rigidly stand, a jacket zipped up and the hood covering most of his face. Leon supports him on his left side, helping him limp towards me.

Fuck, my heart's racing so badly I can hear it pounding in my ears.

Leon stops when he's a meter in front of me, sparing me a small grin. "Look who I found."

It's Piers. Even without seeing his face, I know it's him. But the hooded figure doesn't respond, instead lowering his head even further.

Leon spares me another small grin and helps Piers into the house, saying, "There's a couple of suitcases on the backseat."

I've never done anything so fast before, but before I can enter the house with the suitcases, Leon steps back onto the porch and stops me.

"There's one more thing," he says, a slight hesitation to his words.

"Of course there is."

"He's having a hard time remembering."

As always with Leon, I try to school my features. I _**try**_ to, try not to let every emotion slip through. "He's got amnesia?"

"It's not as bad as that would make it seem. He seems to remember some bits and pieces. He didn't remember me or Jake, but he perked up when I said your name."

Thank god, he remembers me. Maybe. "So what should I know."

Leon all but shrugs. "He doesn't come with instructions, if that's what you're looking for. He's on his way to slight physical recovery, but he doesn't need anything medicinal. As far as his memory goes, I know just as much as you do in that area."

"I don't know anything."

"I know. Just take your time with him. Maybe find a doctor here you can talk to." He begins making his way past me to his car.

"Leon, wait! What is this, like a hit and run? You just drop him off and leave?"

"Chris, you have to take it from here. We caught some guys sneaking around the cathedral; who knows if they're tracking me. I can't stay here; that'd be a huge risk."

"But what am I supposed to do?"

Leon sighs as he opens the door, hanging his head slightly. "I don't know, Chris. It's either this or turn him over to the BSAA. You're just going to have to figure it out as you go."

"Leon—"

"Chris, just... Hang on to the phone; the line's still secure." Without another word, he slips into the car and leaves again.

So now I'm left on the porch with two suitcases while Piers is somewhere inside the tiny building in front of me, and it feels as if the world's going to implode on itself.

I have to get over whatever fear has suddenly settled in the pit of my stomach and just go inside. Just go inside and see _**him**_.

My feet move of their own accord now, past the threshold, into the living room. I drop the suitcases when I see him with his jacket off.

He seems so small, sitting bent in half on the couch, his eyes staring at the carpet.

I can only see his left side and it seems normal. But then his right arm moves and I catch his right hand... It's borderline mutilated, almost patchwork colours of red and pink scars.

"You're Chris?" he asks without looking at me.

I want nothing more than to rush to him, take him in my arms and just... I don't know. Just be next to him. "Yeah. I was your Captain in the BSAA. Do you remember?" Do you remember more than that? Do you remember our interludes during our last tour?

"I remember your name," he mutters, leaning back into the cushions. Finally, finally, he turns his face to me and, if I were a lesser man, I might leave the room.

The whole right side of his face his a mass of scarred, burned tissue, his eye a milky, unseeing orb. I knew he wasn't going to walk away without some scars, but I didn't think it would be near this. Not like this.

I try not to hesitate, try not to let him sense my shock. "Are you hungry?" I offer lamely, but my heart feels like it's about to burst from my chest and fly across the room. "Need anything?"

"A shower," he replies flatly.

"Yeah, yeah, of course. It's, um, it's right down the hall." Fuck. Christ, I sound close to horrified. I've got to keep my tone in check. "Follow me."

The bathroom's not far and he stays close behind, almost colliding with me when I stop walking. I turn and come face-to-face with him.

It's heartbreaking. It's heartbreaking, but it's beautiful in a way. It's not a disfigurement somehow; it's a reminder of what he was willing to do for the mission. For me.

But Piers doesn't take my staring that way. Mortified, he lowers his eyes to the floor, trying to slide past me but I stop him. "Don't," he whispers. "I know what I look like."

But I don't let him go. "Look at me."

"Please. Just let me take a shower."

"Piers. Look at me." A tone normally reserved for when I'm playing Captain seeps into my words and it forces Piers to meet my eyes. "You're beautiful, Piers." Christ, scare the kid, why don't you? He barely remembers anything and I'm pinning him in a hallway telling him he's beautiful.

Piers says nothing, merely waiting until I let him slip from my grasp and into the bathroom. "Are there towels in here?"

Fuck. I may have already screwed up. "Cabinet over the toilet. I'll... I'll leave you to it."

His eyes are downcast as he closes the door, leaving me alone in the hall.

Now I just have to figure out a way to help him remember me without scaring the hell out of him.


	6. Trees

I feel the need to start each chapter by saying a HUGE thank you to everyone! Y'all are great :)

And this feels short, I know, but I swear there's another chapter coming tomorrow (one in which things progress!).

* * *

6. Trees.

There's only one grocery store in Woodsford and it's the one that Joyce Smithers, mother of Kyle Smithers, works at.

Smithers. What the hell kind of last name is Smithers, anyway? Whatever. That's not the point.

Piers snuck straight into the bedroom after his shower last night and I didn't bother him; it didn't feel right. After the awkward moment in the hall, I figured I'd just let him breathe.

But now it's early Wednesday morning and I'm pushing a shopping cart up and down the aisles of the grocery store, trying to make sure I buy enough food for two full-grown men to eat several times a day and not just one man who barely eats anything more than a banana or an egg every now and then.

I remember Piers saying something about gummi bears at one point, so I grab several bags of those. Just in case.

It's early so, of course, only one lane's open; Joyce's lane. Christ. Of course. She's a nice woman, obviously, but after the Kyle thing...

"Chris!" She checks her watch. "Little early for you, isn't it, darlin'?"

"Hey, Joyce," I smile sheepishly as I push the basket through her lane, hurriedly plopping the items on her conveyer belt.

"And this is more food than you've ever gotten since you've been here," she chuckles. "I take it your friend's already moved in?"

Her words catch me off guard and have me fumbling to catch the pack of tilapia that I've almost dropped.

"Word travels fast in small towns," she winks. "Learn that lesson _**fast.**_"

"Uh." I clear my throat, clues as to how to weasel out of this conversation completely evading me. "Yeah. Yeah, he's here."

"Then you two should come to our Christmas festival next week!"

Jesus, what is it with this town and festivals? Build a goddamn movie theater already. "I'll think about it."

"What's to think about? Free food is always a big draw, right?"

"Yeah, well, I mean..." Jesus, Chris, take a breath. "Thanks, Joyce, but I don't know if my, uh, friend's up to it."

With a smile that says she knows much more than she's letting on, she takes my card and swipes it, adding casually, "Our little town is more open minded than you think, Chris. Promise me you'll consider coming next week."

I think I appear dumbfounded. I have to appear dumbfounded because I certainly feel dumbfounded. "S-sure, Joyce. Thanks."

I love the fact that it's winter because that means that every time I leave someplace, I'm smacked right in the face with the cold, and it always feels like a much needed pick-me-up when it happens. Now is no exception.

Piers is still locked away in the bedroom when I return home, so I toss the groceries away (probably breaking some things in the process) and begin making breakfast. And, no, nothing involving eggs.

Bacon's sizzling, ham's frying, coffee's brewing, and Piers is finally emerging from his cave.

"Morning!" I greet far too cheerily.

He mumbles something that could be, "Good morning," but it's caught in a fog of grogginess.

"Here," I pour him a mug of caffeine and hand it to him, "this should help."

Taking the cup, he tries to offer me a grin. "Thanks. I feel like I've been hit with a semi."

"Anything I can do?"

"Probably not."

I fix our plates and gesture for him to sit, setting the food before him as I take my seat.

And it's... awkward, almost. It's too quiet. It shouldn't be this quiet.

"Leon said you would need 24 hour care for a long time," I comment. "I'm fine with that, but you seem to be doing pretty well on your own."

Piers is still examining the bacon strips like they're trying to convey some confidential message to him. "They said I took to Jake's blood really well. Sometimes it feels like I can barely move; sometimes I feel invincible. Then there's times, like right now, that I just feel normal."

More silence. This silence is absolutely killing me. Piers and I were never like this, never awkward, never seeming to grasp at straws for words. But, here we are, each staring at our plates, hoping the other finds a topic of interest.

You know what? I'm taking a shot in the dark here, but what the hell? "I know you got a jacket and boots. You got gloves?"

He furrows his brow but replies, "Yeah, I think I saw Leon pack some."

"Good, because you know what next week is? Christmas. And you know what we don't have? A Christmas tree."

The unmarred part of his face pales at the words. "I'm not going into town."

"Huh? No, we don't have to go into town."

"Then how are we going to buy a tree?"

I grin conspiratorially. "We're not _**buying**_ a tree, Piers. We're gonna cut it down."

It's hard to spot, but his eyes light up for the briefest moment when he hears that. "Then let's go."

"Right now?"

"What better time than the present? Besides, I've got no memories of ever cutting down a Christmas tree, but I know it's something I've always wanted to do."

"Alright, then," I chuckle. "Suit up."

* * *

The sanded-down Cheyenne bumps along as we drive into the sparse woods behind the house. Considering we haven't moved yet, we know we're going to have to settle for something that can fit in the apartment-sized place we're in now, so it can only be about five feet tall. It doesn't take us long to find a patch of pines to choose from, and I throw the truck into park, getting out and retrieving the ax from the truck bed.

Piers is shuffling through the shallow snow, but his eyes are wide as saucers, though his right is still dim and unseeing. "Please tell me we're gonna get a legitimate tree and not some Charlie Brown nonsense."

"Hey! Nothing was wrong with Charlie Brown's tree."

Piers smiles but immediately gets wrapped up in sizing up each specimen, not stopping until he finds the perfect one.

I merely trail behind him, filled to bursting with happiness at just watching him seem normal and content for a moment.

Then he stops, examining a short, stout tree before him. "This one," he says after a good minute of weighing the branches and checking its fullness. "Yeah, this one."

"Sure?"

"Positive."

"Alright, because once it hits the ground, that's it; it's ours."

"Got it."

I set to work hacking away at the base of the tree, watching Piers stare at me from the corner of my eye. No, he's not watching me; he's _**studying**_ me.

The tree's falling to the earth as Piers asks, "What were we?"

The words are so sudden that I hear them but don't catch the meaning as I'm focused on the tree. "We were soldiers. Worked for the BSAA."

"No, that's not what I mean. What were _**we**_, you and I?"

I lean on the ax to catch my breath, not sure how to answer. "Well... Do you remember anything about us?"

"I keep having dreams of someone, but I can't see their face. Sometimes I can hear a voice... The voice is starting to sound like you."

My throat goes dry and all I want him to do is remember something, anything, even if he just remembers putting me in my place. "You think it was me?"

"I do. I do think it was you. Sometimes I dream that I'm being shoved in this pod, flying away from an explosion, and I think you're the one that saves me."

"Piers... YOU did that to ME. You saved my life. More than once, actually."

"But what were we? If I wound-up like THIS," he gestures to his face in disgust, "I must have... I must have loved you."

I could say 'yes.' I could just tell him that, yes, he did love me and we were together.

But I can't. I have to tell him the truth: "Our last outing with the BSAA was unparalleled. The things we faced were... monstrous, literally and metaphorically." Words stop coming momentarily as our eyes meet, his gaze an expectant one. "We lost our teammates rather quick. It was just me and you for most of it and we... we had a couple of moments to ourselves. We... we, uh..."

"We fucked?"

My heads shoots up, trying to decipher the look on his face, most of which is hidden in the scars. But I need to keep on with the truth. "Yes."

"How many times?"

"Twice."

Piers is firm in his stance and his words. "Was it just for stress relief? Did we just need something to do?"

Oh, god no. "Not on my end."

"What about me? Did I say anything, anything about how I felt?"

I wish you had. "We really didn't speak about it."

"And you? What did you feel?"

"I... I cared about you a great deal."

He nods, signaling that the questions are over for now, but the shadow of frustration is resting in his expression. "Let's get the tree in the truck."

Considering the size of the pine, it takes us no time at all to haul the thing up and into the truck bed and tie it up to keep it from flopping out should I hit a bump on the ride home.

Piers hurries into the passenger seat and I hop into the driver's side right after him, turning the key as quickly as I can to generate some heat. But I can feel eyes on me, so I turn to see Piers with a furrowed brow and a look of complete discontentment on his face.

"There's something there," he growls. "It's right there at the front of my mind but it's like it's... fuzzy or something. It's like it's covered with dust that I can't wipe off."

"Piers, I'm sorry—" My words are cut short by lips crashing into mine. Full lips. _**His**_ lips. I'm shell-shocked; should I respond? Should I just sit here and see what he does?

But it's too much. I have to return the gesture. So our lips move together, a bit chaste, but the last thing I want to do is scare him.

He pulls back slowly, studying my face intently, before removing his gloves and placing his hands on the sides of my face and running his fingers up and down my cheeks and over my jaw.

There's a pang in my chest again. Fuck, please, just remember me. Remember anything with me in it, Piers, please.

But his hands trail from my face and wind up in his lap as he sits back against the seat, murmuring, "Sorry."

"Hey," I say, "you don't ever apologize to me. Understand?"

That earns me the slightest, barest hint of a grin.

And I'll take what I can get right now.


	7. Keys

7. Keys.

I stare at my mobile and pace in the front yard like I'm about to face my parents after being caught stealing candy before dinner. All I need to do is call Kyle and ask him a favour, but it feels like a much larger task.

"Hey."

I whip around to find Piers on the front porch, his hoodie pulled protectively up and covering most of his face.

"Hey yourself. You look like you wanna go somewhere."

"We need stuff for the tree. It's just kind of laying against the wall and it's naked."

"Naked?" I laugh.

He can't help but grin. "Yeah, it's naked. Right now it's not so much a Christmas tree but more of a dying pine that two nut-jobs chopped down."

"I don't seem to remember you swinging the ax."

"Yeah, well, you know what I mean."

"So..." I slide the mobile into my pocket and clap my hands together. "I thought you weren't too keen on going into town? I know we were able to go chop down the tree, but there's no woods full of ornaments or anything."

"I know that, jackass," he mutters, though there's mirth in his tone. Trudging down the steps and passing me as he heads to the truck, he tosses me the keys, adding, "I found one of your scarves. I'm just gonna cover-up."

I know I shouldn't push him, but I can't stop my dumb fat mouth from saying, "You don't have to cover yourself, you know. You look fine." And, to me, he _**does**_ look fine. While he shocked me that first time I saw him again, I never stopped thinking he was beautiful. I'm completely biased though, so of course I'm able to see past the scars and markings and just see _**him**_.

Piers sighs, "Please stop with that?"

"Stop with what?"

"That whole thing where you keep telling me I look okay. I know how to use mirrors. I've seen myself." If he hadn't tossed me the keys, I'm sure he would have locked himself in the truck and sped away. As it was, I found him marching towards me, a scornful look painting his features.

"Piers..."

"I know I'm not normal. I know I seem like a monster. _**I know what I look like.**_" His face was so close to mine that our noses were touching as anger seethed from his body in such force that I wanted to take a step backwards.

But I couldn't. I had to stand firm. "You're a goddamn hero, Piers. You didn't just save my life; you saved countless numbers of people. You should've died. Hell, the only reason _**I'm **_not dead isbecause you shoved me in that escape pod."

"What's your point?"

There's a small bubble of anger building in the pit of my stomach. Is he being purposefully dense? Does he really not get it? "For Christ's sake, Piers, who the hell cares what you look like after all you've done?"

"I do!"

"Why?"

"Well, I'm sure someone like you wouldn't know what it's like to potentially scare little kids and scar people for life just by walking past them."

"Scared? You want to talk about scaring people? Try having to watch someone you love inject himself with liquid death. Try watching that same person blow-up. You want to talk about scaring someone, Piers? You scared _**me**_. You scared me and not with the way you look, either."

Piers' expression has drifted from enraged to puzzled within seconds, but I'm not concerned with it until he asks, "What did you just say?"

"You want me to repeat the whole thing?"

"No. Just... who did you watch inject himself?"

Christ, he's just being stupid now. "_**You**_. I watched you."

"No. No. You said, 'Try watching someone you _**love**_.'"

"I..." Goddammit, he got me. It appears the the dense one in this conversations is _**me**_. Well, fine. I've been all about telling the truth lately, haven't I? So, let's keep the truth ball rolling. "That's right."

Piers' eyes narrow, but the left one almost glistens, those golden hues practically hypnotizing me. "Don't play with me like that," he whispers.

Taking a step forward, I take his right hand and bring it to my lips, kissing the puffy skin like it's a treasure to be marveled. "I'm not playing with you, Piers." Turning his hand over, I kiss his palm, making sure that our eyes never break contact. My lips travel upwards, kissing his wrist as I push back the loose sleeve of his jacket.

"Chris—"

"You're beautiful, Piers," I whisper against the scars. I refuse to break the gaze, tense as it is, as I let his hand go and slowly unzip his jacket.

"Please..." His voice is so small, less than a whisper, and choked with emotions that I can't place. "Chris, what are you doing?"

I don't want to take advantage of him. I don't want to force him to do anything. But I can't stop now. It's barely been three days; I'm moving too fast, I know I am. But I can't stand to see him like this, wallowing in pity and fear that he doesn't even need.

So I slide the jacket zipper open and push it off of his shoulders. The scars traveling from his right hand to his left collarbone before fading and kiss every part that's revealed to my around his t-shirt.

His hands are now gripping my shoulders, but he's not pushing me away; he's steadying himself as he murmurs something that sounds like my name.

That's all I need to hear.

I pull away from his neck and begin kissing the marred skin on his face, letting my fingers trace the smooth cheek like I did so long ago.

Two firm hands are placed on my chest, pushing me back slightly. "Chris?" There are tears in his eyes now and I want nothing more than to kiss them away, promise him anything to make them go away. "Why are you doing this?"

Tell him the truth. My hands don't stop stroking his cheeks as I reply, "I love you, Piers. I love you, and I'll be damned if you let this set-back ruin you."

He's not fighting the tears now and they march freely down his face. "Say... say it again..."

"I love you, Piers."

He chokes back a sob, but there's a smile there as well. "I knew it was you in those dreams, those memories. I knew it was you." The hands on my chest tangle in my jacket and pull me closer until my arms are wrapped firmly around his torso and I'm kissing his forehead, just letting him cry.

"I'm right here," I promise. "I'm not going anywhere; I'm not leaving you."

Never again.


	8. Candy

This is all now posted on my tumblr (just search for harvincy), and there will also be snippets and some other RE6 drabbles I'm working on. Just a heads-up.

* * *

8. Candy.

I had to carry him inside. He went limp in my arms from exhaustion, so I carried him to bed, even though it was only 10am.

He said something about dreams and memories and that I was the one in them, so that gives me some hope. But... You know what? I'm not thinking about it right now. I'm watching some mindless Christmas movie when a knock sounds on the front door and, considering I'm expecting no one and I didn't order pizza, I rest a hand on the hilt of my gun as I inch to the door and glance through the peep-hole.

It's Kyle. It's Kyle with what looks like paint.

"Hey," I whisper as I open the door and step outside.

He crinkles his brow in question. "Do we need to whisper?"

"P—" I'm about to say Piers' name but stop myself. "My friend's sleeping. He's sick so I'm trying to let him rest."

"Oh, yeah, that's fine." He clears his throat. "I just wanted to drop off the paint for the truck before I went to work. I was gonna try to swing by some time this weekend and start on it. You can't be seen driving around in a sanded-down Cheyenne," he smiles.

I return the grin. "I appreciate it. You're going out of way for a damn truck, but thanks." He nods and turn to leave, but I stop him. "Kyle, I actually wanted to call you earlier and ask you a question; I need a favour."

"Shoot, Redfield."

"Your family owns the grocery store, don't they?"

"Yeah, how'd you figure that out? You don't talk to anyone..."

"Your mom's always there (sometimes the only one there), and, the times that I've gone right when the store opens, hers has been the only car in the lot."

"Hm. Alright then, what does this favour of yours have to do with my family owning the grocery store?"

"Do you think it would be possible for me and my, uh, friend to use the shop after closing one night?"

He doesn't seem opposed, even though he says, "Can I ask 'why?'"

I don't want to throw Piers under the bus, don't want to make him seem weak y any stretch of the imagination. "His injuries from our last tour are extensive. I think he's afraid of scaring the locals."

Kyle's takes a moment but slowly nods. "I'll see what I can do. My mom's so smitten with you anyway— I'm sure she'll jump at the chance to help you out. Probably start kicking people out three hours early just to dust everything for the occasion."

I have to chuckle. "She's a good woman."

Kyle merely grins and starts heading back to his truck before calling, "I'll let you know as soon as I talk to her. And let me know about painting the truck."

I wave as he drives away and I hear loud thump from behind me.

What the hell was that? I jog back into the house and find Piers sprawled out face-down on the floor between the bedroom and the kitchen. Shit. "Piers?" I kneel beside him, feeling for a pulse first. It's there. Thank god. Alright... "Piers?" He's not responding. "Goddammit!" I roll him over onto his back and pull him into my lap. "Piers, please, wake up."

Fuck. I don't know what to do.

Piers begins shaking, his eyes fly open, a gasp escapes him. He tries to say my name buy he can't speak around a stutter that forms, though his left hand grips my forearm tightly. "It... hurts..." he manages.

Christ. _**I don't know what to do. **_All I can do, all I know to do, is hold him close to me, whispering that it'll be okay, kissing the top of his head.

Wait. Leon's mobile. I dig the phone from my pocket and press his speed dial. There's ringing. And ringing. "Goddammit, Leon, pick up the fucking phone..."

Piers' shaking has turned violent and I have to drop the phone to hold him still. He's murmuring my name now, but it's a plea. A plea to help him, to make the pain cease.

But I just feel useless.

I'm praying. I don't know to who or what and I'm not sure what I'm asking, just... goddammit, just help him, just let the pain stop, please.

He's begging me to help him. How can I tell him that I can't? He's like this because of me and I can't do one fucking thing to help him.

This should be me. I should be the one in pain, not Piers. I should be the one with the scars, not Piers.

It just shouldn't be this way; not like this.

He's back from the dead, he's in my arms, and instead of holding him like I should I'm trying to keep him still, trying to comfort him. I'm not sure what kind of sick sense of humour life has, but I hate it.

Piers starts heaving, so I turn him on his side in case he vomits.

He does.

"Chris," He's still gripping me with his left hand, but it's a weak hold, and he's dripping with sweat, "can I go back to bed?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course, c'mon." Gingerly, I make it to my feet, pulling Piers with me and helping him limp back into the bedroom and under the safety of the blankets. I grab a bottle of water from the kitchen but, when I return, he's already asleep again, so I set it on the nightstand and back out of the room.

A stench hits me and I look down only to see that my left side took the majority of Piers' regurgitation. A shower it is, then.

My clothes hit the floor as soon as I enter the bathroom and I throw the water on as hot as it can go, considering that the cold weather's been effecting the pipes. I step into the glass shower and let the stinging heat wash everything away: the vomit, the pain, the confusion, the rage, everything.

There's something welling up in me, starting in my gut, and I can't fight it. Christ, I'm shaking. My back hits the shower wall and I sink to the floor as my chest tightens and my shoulders hunch.

I'm crying. Goddammit, I'm crying. No... more like weeping. For fuck's sake, I shouldn't be openly bawling like this, but I can't stop it.

This just shouldn't have happened to Piers. But not only did it happen, but there's nothing I can do to fix. And I think that's where most of the frustration comes from.

I can't fix it.

Bell chimes come from the pile of discarded clothes but I can't even find it in me to push myself up from the floor. Leon can leave a message. I doubt he'd have anything helpful to say right now, anyway.

* * *

I wallowed in my self-pity for almost an hour. When I realized my hands were far too wrinkled from the water, I pulled myself out of the shower and tossed my robe on, shuffling out to the kitchen after I dug both of my phones from the pants left on the tile floor.

One phone held a message from Leon asking if I was okay. The other held a message from Kyle saying Joyce would be ready for us at 9:30 tonight.

So now I'm back on the sofa, watching more mindless made-for-tv Christmas movies. God, these things are sappy.

Yet (and I can't believe I'm going to admit this) it's making me want something similar. I kind of want that moment in front of the fireplace or under mistletoe or just sitting in front of a lit tree with Piers.

I can feel myself getting sappier by the second.

There's the soft sound of feet pattering that shakes me from my reverie. Turning off the tv, I head to the kitchen to find Piers opening up cabinets, looking for something.

"Thanks for the water," he says without facing me.

"Yeah, no problem." I lean against the wall and just watch him for a moment. He seems embarrassed, which is something I can't have, so I try to relieve some tension. "Hey, check the cabinet over the stove. Bottom shelf."

Piers does so and freezes momentarily when his eyes land on the bags of candy. Grabbing one, he closes the cabinet and turns to face me. "Gummi bears?"

I just nod, but I'm rewarded with a smile so I don't press the issue further, instead changing the subject. "I've got some good news: We get the grocery store in town all to ourselves tonight."

He's mid-opening the bag and stops, his eyes locking onto mine. "Why? How?"

"Well, I know you're kinda caught between wanting to go out and not wanting to... stir the pot, so to speak, so I figured we'd split the difference. And I guess you could say I'm friends with the owners, so they set it up for us. We go at 9:30." I'm hoping he'll be receptive to the idea, but the expression I'm met with has me worried.

Setting the bag on the counter, Piers closes the distance between us and runs his hands up and down my arms, making me come to the realization that I'm still in my robe. He slips one hand inside the fabric, running his fingers from my chest to my shoulder and back while his other hand rests on the robe's tie. "Can I see you?"

I'm holding my breath so tightly that I can't even answer, instead squeezing his hand as a sign that he can go on.

He slowly pulls the tie loose, letting the robe slide open, and his hands travel over my frame with feather-light touches. "I've... I've never seen you, have I? Not like this, anyway."

"No, we— we never had the chance."

"I like that. At least now I'll be able to remember my first time seeing you like this."

I take his hands in mine and kiss them both in turn.

He lifts his head and leans up to kiss me when he suddenly takes a step back, grimacing, his hands flying to his temples. "Shit!"

"What's wrong?"

"Fuckin' headache; it feels like my head's caving in."

"Is it as bad as before?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I just need to lie down."

Fast as I can, I throw my robe back on and help him to the bedroom once again.

As he lays down, he looks like he's going to immediately slip back into sleep, so I quietly exit. Before I can pull the door closed, I hear him murmur, "Chris? Can you grab me another bottle of water? And the gummi bears?"

Smiling despite it all, I do as he asks, taking a second to place a quick kiss on his cheek before I head back to the living room and set myself up in front of the tv before we need to leave.

I swear, these goddamn overly saccharine-sweet Christmas specials are gonna make me stab something.

But I'm still gonna watch.

* * *

I actually had to wake Piers up to get him ready in time to head to Joyce's store. The entire ride over he popped gummi bears in his mouth, but he also kept staring at the bag like it was speaking to him.

Who knows? Maybe it was.

When the Cheyenne finally pulls into the near-empty lot, Piers slides out of the truck, taking several tentative steps towards the store before stopping and staring at the half-empty candy bag in his hand. He mumbles something but I miss it.

Please be okay. "Do you not want to go in?"

"No, that's not what I said." He holds up the bag. "I mentioned liking these things _**once;**_ and you remembered."

Of course. "You remember mentioning them?" He's not said once that he _**remembers**_ something, so... this is good.

The realization hits him. "Yeah, I do. We were waiting for a bomb to be detonated on a bridge somewhere and you were trying to make me less nervous by asking these dumb questions like what my favorite candy was... And was there someone named Finn? The name Finn seems to be there, too..."

I watch him put the candy in his pocket before walking towards him and taking his right hand in my own. "Ready? There'll only be two people in there."

"But it's two people who've never seen me before."

"Want me to say it's a Halloween costume that you're just not ready to take it off?" He glares at me but I just squeeze his hand in understanding. "I wouldn't put you through anything I wasn't 100% sure you could handle."

He scoffs. "I couldn't even handle getting out of bed this morning."

"Piers, stop it. That wasn't your fault."

"I know, I know. I'll have good days and bad days and all that shit."

Finally, he squeezes my hand and we walk into the store. At the threshold, he stops, holding up our entwined hands and throwing me a raised eyebrow as if to ask if we should let go.

"Trust me; we're fine," I wink. "Let's go." A thought strikes me before we hit the entrance. "I'll explain this later, but we're gonna have to introduce you with a different name. Any thoughts?"

"That name Finn is stuck in my head. Let's just go with that."

Kyle's sitting on one of the conveyor belts at the check-out lane closest to us when we finally enter. To his credit, he doesn't flinch at all as he hops to his feet and approaches us, his hand extending as he introduces himself. "How're you doin'? I'm Kyle."

Piers has tensed so much and tightened his grip that I almost feel as if my hand will snap in two.

"Name's Finn," he says shortly, extending his left hand instead of relinquishing our contact.

The move doesn't bristle Kyle, who switches hands and goes through with the shake. "Good to meet you, Finn. My mom had to go home and help my little sister with something for school, so she left me here to watch the fort. You two just grocery shoppin' or you looking for something in particular?"

"Well, I noticed you guys have that holiday aisle set-up in the back, and we are in desperate need of some ornaments."

Piers head whips to face me but he says nothing.

"Alright then," Kyle chuckles, "seems like you guys know what you want. I'll leave you to it. Holler when you wanna check out."

Grabbing a shopping cart, I lead Piers to the back of the store where Joyce had set-up an entire winter wonderland section that I'd never had reason to notice until Piers arrived.

Entranced, he lets go of my hand, but stops before he picks up a pack of ornaments. "What can we get?"

"Whatever you want," I chuckle. "Whatever you wanna stare at 'til January 1st." Picking up a tree stand, I toss it in the cart. "See? Just snap something up and drop it in. It's easy."

It's like I flipped a switch. Piers immediately grabs one of everything, or at least that's how it seems. Ornaments that run the colour spectrum, garland, things with holly that I'm not quite sure what they are, packs of fake snow, lights (for both inside and outside), a star for the top of the tree... I'm losing track, but that cart's filled to bursting.

Proudly, Piers places one final ornament, a teddy bear, into the basket. "There. Done. Now where's that... _**Kyle.**_"

I catch the unmistakeable disdain coating his words. "Hey, what's up? You just met the guy."

"He looks like me," Piers mumbles. "Or what I _**used**_ to look like, anyway."

"Piers—"

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine."

Kyle's lounging on the same conveyor belt he was on when we arrived and he hops down and starts bagging the ridiculous amount of decorations. "Definitely gonna brighten up that little place of yours, especially since I heard the sale on the new place won't go through 'til after the first."

I cocked an eyebrow, slightly curious as to how he knew that. "Yeah. Got about eleven days left."

Piers just watches us.

When the final bag is placed in the cart, Kyle grins and begins walking to the entrance.

"I need to pay."

"Joyce told me to tell you to consider it a 'Welcome to Woodsford' slash early Christmas present." Unlocking the door, he gestures us outside. "You gentlemen have a good night."

Spouting off 'thank you's and 'good night's, we step into the parking lot and begin loading up the truck, but not before I turn around and catch Kyle through the large front windows swiping his credit card at one of the registers.

Piers actually looks like an excited puppy, so I drive a bit more quickly than usual on the drive home, excited myself to actually do something normal with him.

There's no preamble to what we're doing. Despite the short height of the tree, it takes the two of us to get it in the tree stand, pine needles poking us in our faces at every turn.

And the lights are already getting tangled, though my frustration is a huge source of amusement for Piers, which cools my blood a bit.

We start placing ornaments on the short, stubby pine when Piers bolts into the kitchen, leaving me praying that he's not about to have another episode.

But he returns, grinning, and holding another pack of gummi bears. "You ever string cereal on a tree as a kid?"

"Yeah, once or twice. It was normally the round pieces."

"Well, let's string gummi bears."

"I don't think I have anything to string them up with."

"No, you did in one of the kitchen drawers. You didn't clean out anything from the last renters, did you?"

I shrug, "It's a good thing I didn't, right?"

Piers laugh me off, showing me the thread and needle he found.

"So you're going to stab the poor, defenseless bears and then hang them from a tree for amusement?"

"Yes," Piers replies, threading the needle, "and I'm going to love every second of it." Producing one helpless little gummi, he stabs the needle through its side, sliding it down the thread. "See?"

Watching him poke the candy bears, I ask, "Can I have one? I've never had one before."

Piers almost drops the needle in shock. "How in the hell have you gone thirty-nine years without a gummi bear?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake you sound like Kyle; can I have one, please?"

Piers' eyes darken at the mention of Kyle, but he seems to let it go. Reaching into the bag, he pulls out a red one and holds it out to me.

I reach for it, but Piers has other plans. He slips his hand away from me and places the candy on my lips and murmurs, "Take it."

Hm. He wants to play? I can play. Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I open my lips and let my tongue slide out and take the candy, but I don't stop. I let my tongue lick up and down his digits, taking his index finger into my mouth and sucking on his lightly.

Piers is frozen, but his left eye is almost completely black with lush and his cheeks are flush with excitement.

I can't push him too much, so I pull back and let his finger go with a _pop, _not realizing that I'd find myself pinned against the wall within the next second.

Full lips are on mine and his hands are tangling in my shirt. Without a second thought, I grip his ass and lift him up, letting his legs wrap around my waist as I carry him into the bedroom.

When we make it to the bed, he becomes rigid and pulls away.

I already know what he's about to say. "It's alright," I whisper, stroking his cheek as I lay beside him. "We don't have to do anything."

I'm rewarded with the most genuine smile I've gotten from him since he arrived. "Thanks."

"I grabbed these on the way in here, too," I grin as I toss the bag of bears at him.

A sly grin spread across his face as he produces another piece. "Want it?"

"Damn right I do," I growl.

We slip into more kisses. More perfect kisses.

Christ, listen to me. I'm starting to sound as sappy as those tv movies. Heh. Maybe that's not such a bad thing.

* * *

I wake to find Piers cuddled-up to my side, rubbing his cheek against my chest like a kitten.

"Mornin', sunshine."

He stretches and tightens his embrace around my stomach. "What time is it?"

"Barely noon."

"We slept 'til noon? Jeeze..."

Chuckling, I reach over him to the nightstand and grab the bag of gummi bears from last night. Pulling one out, I stare at it a moment, laughing to myself that the best night I've had in a long time started with a simple piece of candy. "Breakfast?"

"Yeah, what are you mak—" Before he can finish, I shove the bear in his mouth. Smiling, he swallows the helpless little bear and holds my gaze almost shyly. There's a tentative reserve to his motions as he leans up towards me and places a kiss on my cheek. "Thank you."

"For what? The gummi bears?"

"For not leaving."

I tilt his chin up and place a chaste kiss on his lips. "Of course I'm not leaving." And that's one promise I can actually make. I may not be able to take his pain away, but I know I can promise that I'm not leaving him alone.


	9. Interlude

Short short short. This was not the chapter 9 I had in mind, but I really wanted to add this. Chap 10 should be ready tomorrow night.

* * *

9. Interlude.

I'm not so presumptuous to think that I can just fall asleep next to Piers every night. I need an invitation. An invitation that Piers is still too shy to give.

So. Here I am. On the pull-out couch. Again. I'm not frustrated. Not at all.

Not frustrated. Not frustrated as I lie awake and look at the tree that we finally finished decorating. Not frustrated as I let the tv stay on while those goddamn Christmas specials keep airing. Not frustrated as I fight a hard-on. Not frustrated as I suddenly have a craving for gummi bears and Piers ate them all after dinner tonight.

Christ, I'm frustrated.

Maybe I can rub one out. Just slide my hand under the sheets— Wait, do I really want to do this with Piers in the other room? Piers curled-up, shirtless, the lips of his parted slightly in contentment...

Fuck, that just made me harder.

"Chris?"

Goddammit. "Yeah?"

"Can't sleep?" Piers sits on the edge of the pull-out, close to my waist.

Close to my erection. I bunch up the sheets in hopes that it's not noticeable. "These Christmas shows are addictive," I try to laugh, pushing myself up into a sitting position.

Piers scoots back on the bed and sits beside me, leaning his bad shoulder against mine. With the light from the tv, I glance down and see his chest and waist, most of which is marred.

He's still beautiful. And when I think about how he would up this way...

I wrap my arm around his shoulders and tilt his chin up, making him face me. "Do you still get frustrated when I tell you you're beautiful?"

Piers rolls his eyes, trying to sink into the sofa, but only managing to cuddle closer to me. "I don't need you to say that."

"But I want to say it." Before he can protest, I kiss. Very simple, almost chaste. Until I feel the slight flick of his tongue against my lips.

My mouth parts slightly, inviting his tongue in to tangle with mine, the motion so sensual that there's no way my arousal's going away. As a matter of fact, I've gotten even harder. Christ's sake, he can kiss.

Straddling my lap, he grabs the bottom of my t-shirt and lifts it over my head in one swift movement, his lips immediately attaching to my collarbone as my hands grab his ass, pulling him closer to me.

I'm grinding into him like I have to restraint; I have to get a hold of myself. "Piers... Piers, we don't have—"

He cuts me off with a nip to my ear. "You've made it very clear that you're not going to make me do anything I'm not comfortable with. And right now," he grinds his arousal into mine, "I'm_** very**_ comfortable."

Christ. He broke me. I grab the back of his neck and slam my lips to his, this kiss bordering on desperate, our tongues and teeth clashing, trying to devour each other through the lust-fueled haze that's beginning to envelope us.

He tastes like gummi bears and the sweetness only adds to the frenzy.

Piers' lips travel back to my earlobe and he takes it between his teeth as his hands map every part of my chest and stomach, seemingly committing it to memory. When he reaches the waistband of my boxers, he pulls back slightly, raising an eyebrow in question.

"I'm yours," I murmur, kissing his cheek. Fuck, those Christmas specials are seriously making me sappy.

That earns me an almost feral grin, and he waists no time in making me lift my hips as he slides the cotton down my thighs and tosses the material from the bed before slipping his own shorts from his slim form. He reminds me of a cat, muscular yet lithe, every movement its own dance.

I love him. I can't get enough of him. I grab his shoulders and pull him flush against my chest, making sure his lips don't leave mine again. Without thinking, I snake a hand between us and wrap my fingers around both of our cocks, pumping slowly.

"Chris," Piers moans into my mouth, and I swear it's the greatest sound I've ever heard. I just cannot hear my name on his lips enough.

My hand starts pumping faster and I've already come to the conclusion that I'm not stopping until we've both climaxed. I want him to come right here, on top of me, his lips on mine, his eyes facing me.

It won't be like those times in filth and shit, when his back was to me, when our quick actions were due to panic and not sexual frenzy; I'm going to see his face this time.

Piers tangle his hands in my hair and throws his head back and I can tell he's close; god knows I am, too. It's not even that it's an incredible act in and of itself, but it's with _**him**_.

"I'm close," he moans. "Fuck, Chris." He pulls me into another kiss and his hips begin thrusting upward into my hand.

The sensation of our cocks gliding along each other is incredible, more-so even than when I actually penetrated him.

Because this time it means something. This time he knows exactly how I feel.

I come first, my self-control completely waned, but I feel his seed mix with mine shortly after. He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine as he fights to catch his breath, planting small kisses on my jaw.

I grab my t-shirt and wipe us clean as best as I can before sliding back down under the sheets and pulling him with me.

We don't say anything as we drift off to sleep; we don't have to.

This is how it should be; just like this.


	10. Mistletoe

I was very sick and delirious while writing 98% of this (the first scene makes that very obvious). This is a bit of a different approach to pacing than I normally take, as it's scenes from one day pieced together without segue-ways. So let me know if this pace and set-up bothers you or if you really don't care.

* * *

10. Mistletoe.

We slipped into the bedroom at some point in the night. It made no sense to stay camped out in the living when there was a perfectly good (real) bed two meters away.

I'm awoken by the smell of pancakes and coffee and I realize Piers is no longer laying on my chest with his arm around my waist. Snapping up a pair of sweatpants, I step through the doorway and into the kitchen, greeted with the sight of Piers wearing my robe, removing pancakes from the frying pan and plopping them onto plates. When he turns to face me, my heart catches in my throat, but I keep my features in check.

It spread. The blackened edges of the marred skin have begun to creep subtly to the left side of his face. It's barely noticeable; I wonder if even he's noticed it? Of course _**I**_ have— I notice everything about him.

He's smiling, but his hands are shaking as he sets our plates down on the dining table before turning back to the coffee pot and pouring us both a mug. "Still take it black?"

I make sure my voice stays even. "Yeah. You remember that?"

"I remember a lot about you," Piers replies, sitting across from me and taking a small sip. "A lot of it's hazy, like a dream, but I remember _**you**_." Before I can respond, he points to a flier that's now hanging from a magnet on the fridge. "Let's go."

It's the flier for the Christmas Eve festival tonight. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." He shoves a much-too-large forkful into his mouth, forcing himself to wash it down with a gulp of coffee. "I've thought a lot about what you said before, you know, about not caring what I look like. You're right. After everything you and I accomplished, anyone who judges me based on these markings can screw off."

The smile that spreads across my face is huge, curling up until my teeth are showing.

"Well, someone's happy," he grins.

"I _**am**_ happy, Piers. And, yeah, of course we'll go tonight."

"And I wanna see the new house."

That catches me off guard, but there's no reason for him _**not**_ to see it. "Sure thing, kid."

"Did you just call me 'kid'?"

"Yeah."

"Don't. Please."

"Well, you're lacking a nickname, and I can't have that. What about Junior?"

He rolls his eyes, "Dear god, no."

"Cupcake?"

"No."

Sugar lumps?"

"Fuck, no."

I chew my next bite of breakfast very slowly, as if it's helping me concentrate on something highly imperative to our lives. "I've got it... Boo Boo."

"Oh, shit, _**no**_. Boo Boo? Like the bear from the cartoon?"

"Ha, yes, that's it! You've officially been dubbed Boo Boo." The grin is plastered to my face, but Piers looks almost pained.

"Chris..."

"Call me Captain. Captain Love."

That gets him to laugh. "You've gotta be shitting me..."

"C'mere, Boo Boo. Come give Captain Love some sugar."

"You are being cheesy beyond words right now," he laughs, but he still pushes away from the table and takes the two steps to stand beside me.

I reach up and yank him down into my lap my the robe's belt, pulling him into a slow kiss. "I think you like it."

He laughs, a sweet blush covering his cheeks once again; he blushes a lot, but it's a good look at him. "Of course I like it. I like it when you're like this."

"Like what?"

"Just... carefree, I guess. You look like your baggage is a little lighter today."

I pull him into another kiss. "C'mon, Boo Boo. Let's get dress and go see the house."

* * *

I lean against the stair-rail of our future home. "Well?"

Piers stands in the middle of the empty living room, turning in a slow circle, letting the idea of living here sink in.

I wish I could read his mind, wish I could see if this was what he wanted. God knows it's what _**I**_ want, what I feel I desperately need to keep going in this life.

"The place is huge," he finally murmurs. "I haven't even seen upstairs, but the first floor is huge." His back is to me. "How many bedrooms?"

"Three total."

"One for each of us?" his voice is still small, as if he's afraid of my answer, so he doesn't want me to hear the question in the first place.

"One for _**us**_," I say, slipping behind me, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my chin on his shoulder, "and two for... who knows? Maybe there'll be the sound of tiny footsteps running up and down the halls one day."

Immediately, he turns in my arms, his eyes narrowed a bit in question. "Really? You see us going that far? Lasting that long?"

"I... Yeah. I mean, if we're conquering all of... all of this... Then, yeah, I absolutely see us lasting."

I take his left hand in my right and place my left hand on his hip. He reads my mind and places his free hand on my shoulder, letting me lead him into a slow waltz.

"I didn't know you dance," he chuckles quietly.

"I don't. We're probably doing a fucking horrendous job right now and don't even know it."

There's no music, but we don't care. Our feet just carry us around the room and we enjoy the closeness and ease of which we're moving. Piers' head finds its way into the crook of my neck and nuzzles into me, kissing what skin is available to him.

I think he whispers something. I think it's three words. But I don't ask him to repeat it.

I don't want to hear them if they're not the three words I think they are.

* * *

Piers has the hood of his jacket pulled up, my scarf wrapped protectively around his neck and up to his chin. His hands are covered in the safety of gloves, but I don't sense it's enough.

He's shaking beside me as we head from main street to the festival grounds, and I squeeze his hand encouragingly. "Everyone's going to love you, especially Joyce."

As if summoned by a ritual, the one-woman welcoming committee known as Joyce Smithers appears hurrying towards us, her arms open in welcome. "You must be Finn!" she greets, wrapping Piers in a tight hug. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so glad to meet you!" If she notices Piers' scars (and they're impossible to discount), she doesn't let on. "Now, rumour has it you're a big-time hero, have I got that straight?"

"Damn straight," I reply, smiling at the man beside me.

"Well then, you've got to come meet some of our resident soldiers, Finn! We've actually got a couple of purple hearts in our midst." With that pageant-winning smile of hers, Joyce drags Piers away, ignoring the polite protest he's trying to give.

"Didn't think you'd show," Kyle walks up behind me as his mom and Piers disappear into the crowd.

I start walking after them, saying, "I figured that since I had such a great time at the winter fest, the Christmas Eve one would be flat-out amazing."

"Yeah, Woodsford has a bad habit of festivals," Kyle laughs quietly, walking beside me with an almost too comfortable ease, his arm bumping mine. He stops beside a funnel cake stand, nodding towards it and asking, "Ever had one?"

"Yeah, actually, I did when I was a teenager."

He laughs, "That's good. At least you've done _**something**_."

We're close to a lamppost, and I look up only to see mistletoe hanging above it. "You planned this stop?"

He follows my gaze, his expressions staying neutral as he replies, "Completely coincidental." Our eyes meet again. "But you can use it if you want."

I have no intentions of using it whatsoever, but that doesn't matter, as Piers approaches us, facial features twitching as if he's trying not to fly into a fit of rage. "Let's go."

"Piers—"

"Now. Please." Without another word, he turns on his heel and makes his way back to the truck.

Kyle says nothing, merely offers an apologetic grin and lets me jog after the brooding man.

I have the keys, so Piers has to wait for me to let him in. I've not even closed my door before Piers snaps, "What happened between you two?"

The truck starts with the turn of the key. "We kissed."

"Tonight?!"

"No. Before you came here." I keep my voice as even as possible, my hands grip the steering wheel to the point of leaving indentations in the leather cover.

"Where you just horny?"

"No. Nothing like that. It was a mistake."

"Really?"

"It didn't meant anything."

"Well, that's very easy to say, isn't it?" Despite his words, his tone rivals mine for placidity; he's schooling his features, too. "You wish I looked like him, don't you?"

He's being ridiculous, I realize this, but I don't know how to respond. Of course I wish he looked like that, because that would mean he never went through the hell he's suffered.

But I take too long to answer and Piers takes it the wrong way.

Before I've completely hit the brakes when we pull into the driveway, Piers hops out of the truck and storms into the house, but I'm right on his heels, grabbing his jacket from behind and ripping it from his torso.

"Chri—"

I cut him off by shoving him against the wall, pinning both of his arms above his head and kicking his legs apart, settling one knee firmly between his thighs. "Quiet," I hiss. "I know you've been through a lot, but you're not the only one. I know you've got scars, but you're _**not**_ the _**only**_ one. So stop acting you're the first hurt person in this world. And you're worried about Kyle?" I shove my knee up, almost massaging his groin. "Nothing happened with Kyle besides one misplaced kiss. I didn't let Kyle strip me; I didn't let him sit in my lap; and I certainly didn't jack him off." I bite his bottom lip, pulling away before he can kiss me. "And Kyle is certainly not the one I think about bent over with my cock in his ass; that's you, Piers." I'm trailing nips and quick flicks of my tongue to his ear as he begins trembling. "What will it take for you to finally believe me? That I want just you, that I think you're beautiful? Would it take me shoving you onto the bed and fucking you into the mattress until you can't even say my name? Or maybe that's all you'd be able to say— just my name. Just the name of the guy balls-deep in your ass, taking everything from you while he gave you back everything he had."

He's panting, trying to pull his hands down, but I keep him firmly in place.

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes..."

"Then tell me," I growl.

Piers gulps, his cheeks flushed from embarrassment, "I-I want you..." He tries to kiss me but I pull my face away.

"To _**what**_?"

Silence permeates the heated room for a moment before Piers meets my gaze and states, "I want you to fuck the living hell outta me."

Like most things concerning him, his words go straight to my cock and an animal is unleashed. His shirt's all but ripped his his chest as I finally drop my arms, and his hands shoot straight to my belt, fumbling with the buckle. I push his hands away and drop to my knees, making quick work of his jeans, yanking them down his thighs.

"Chris?"

I don't respond. I'm in no state of mind to form truly coherent sentences, anyway. And I'm about to do something I've never done before. My fingers wrap around his semi-erect cock and travel up and down the hardening length, wondering how the hell I'm supposed to go about this. Piers did it to me and I know what _**I**_ like... My tongue snakes out and licks at the slit of his member cautiously, lapping up the tiny drops already there.

"God, Chris," Piers' fingers already tangle in my hair and his head hits the wall as his eyes close.

And I've barely done anything.

Encourage, I let my tongue taste from the head of his cock to the base and down to his sac. There's something about him... I have to have more. My lips wrap around the tip of his length and begin traveling downward, my tongue flattening against the underside.

Piers' hips are involuntarily bucking into my mouth, making me gag, but I take it. I want him to feel pleasure, want him to enjoy himself. I put myself in his shoes: If it was me, what would I want?

I wrap my hand around the base of his cock and begin bobbing my head up and down, rotating my hand in small half-circles around his length as I do.

"Chris... fuck..."

I can never get tired of his moans and I speed up my movements to pull more sounds from him. My free hands reaches up to his sac, massaging his balls, drawing another round of moans to my ears. Fuckin' heaven.

The fingers in my hair tighten and I feel him tensing, so I pull away and jump to my feet, pulling Piers into a heated kiss, my tongue immediately forcing its way past his lips, seeking out every corner of his mouth.

Helping him step out of his jeans, I grab his hand and lead him into the bedroom. "On the bed," I command as I take off my coat and shirt. "All fours."

"Chris—"

"_**Now**_."

There's a chance Piers' reaction will be one of anxiousness, but I'm met with eyes practically black with lust. Slowly, he turns, crawling onto the bed and remaining still, waiting, and I just watch him for a moment, naked and breathing heavily with anticipation.

My belt's quickly opened and my pants join the other pieces of clothing on the floor.

I know Piers feels the dips in the mattress as I climb behind him, reaching my hand around to his face, my fingers poised at his lips. "Suck."

Those lush lips of his open to my index and middle fingers, letting them slide in as his tongue wraps around the digits and slides between them, slicking them up. "Good boy," I breathe out, my voice so husky I barely recognize it. "Get 'em nice and wet— wet enough to slide into you."

He moans around my fingers and begins bobbing his head much like I did on his cock just moments earlier.

My cock's already leaking precum and I'm harder than I can ever remember being before. Those talented lips and tongue working my fingers hungrily are sending me over the edge, so I slap his ass and pull my fingers back, immediately letting them trail circles around his puckered entrance. One finger slides in with barely any resistance, rotating in small circles inside him. When it feels as though his body's loosening, I slide a second finger inside, scissoring them as I pump them in and out.

Piers' is moaning openly, thrusting back on my fingers. "More, Chris... Deeper..."

"What was that?"

"I need more."

"More, huh?" I chuckle darkly and add a third finger to my motions, leaning over and nipping his shoulder. "How's that?"

"So good," he groans, his thrusting quickening. "Please..."

"Please what?" I'm enjoying this far too much; I want him to beg. He's already on his knees underneath me— I just want him to beg.

"Goddammit, fuck me, Chris! Please!"

"As you wish." My fingers leave his ass and are immediately replaced with the tip of my cock. Despite everything, I push in slowly, reveling in the feel of that tight heat wrapping around my cock inch by inch as I slide inside. "Fuck, you're tight; feels incredible..."

Piers' moans are almost wanton as he pushes back impatiently, sheathing me completely. We're frozen for a moment, adjusting to the contact.

But that's all I allow him— a moment. With a quick snap, my hips pull back until my cock's almost fully removed before thrusting back in roughly, forcing Piers' arms to collapse beneath him. I set a bruising pace, focusing on nothing more than the feel of Piers' tight heat around my cock as my hands dig into his thighs so tightly that I'm surprised I don't draw blood.

"Chris... Fuck... faster..."

One of my hands grips Piers' shoulder, using it as leverage to pick up the pace, slamming my cock into his ass, my balls slapping against him with each motion.

Piers words of encouragement fade away until all he can do is moan my name as I fuck him into the mattress, my thighs burning from the effort of keeping up the lightening snap of my hips. I don't want to hurt him, but I want to ruin him for any other man; no one else will be able to satisfy him, I'm making sure of it.

His hands are curling and uncurling in the sheets, his back dripping with sweat, and his moans are becoming louder and louder, though he's still unable to form more than my name.

And I wouldn't change a fucking thing.

He's helpless beneath, not even able to push himself up on his forearms, but I keep at it, keep thrusting into him with abandon, loving the way he's coming so completely undone right before me.

But I need to claim him more, harder, make sure that he _**knows**_ he's mine. So I wrap my arms around his chest and pull him up to sit in my lap, still thrusting into his tight ass, and bite his left shoulder.

"Chris!" Piers throws his head back his lips meeting mine in a sloppy kiss. "Bite me again..."

"Is that what you want?" I pant. "You want me to claim you? Leave me mark on you?"

"Fuckin' yes! Please, Chris!"

My teeth sink into his shoulder again and his whole body spasms with his climax, his seed shooting up and onto his own stomach as he curses and blesses my name all in one breath.

I'm right behind him. Gripping his hips, I slam into him, chanting his name like a prayer, feeling my release right there beneath the surface.

With a final thrust, thick ropes of my climax shoot deep into Piers, causing him to moan my name one last time and he collapses back against my chest.

With my grip still around his chest, I trail kiss from his shoulder to his neck and then to his lips when he turns his head to face me.

We can't move for a moment, but we can collapse onto the bed, exhausted from the exertion.

I should clean us up. I should. But I really don't want to. I don't want to get up, leave him.

I pull his back to my chest and keep kissing his neck, murmuring "I love you" over and over.

I think I hear him say three words again, but I don't ask him to repeat them.

I'm sure I'll figure out what he's saying soon enough.


	11. Cocoa

Had a plot crisis with this one, which is why I deleted the first draft I wrote and changed everything. Enjoy...?

* * *

11. Cocoa.

There was a moment before Piers shoved me away, sending me to a safe escape as I watched him drift further and further away... There was a moment after he had injected himself and the virus was covering most of his face and his arm was mutilated... There was a moment when a desperation dug its hooks into me and I grabbed Piers by the back of his head. In that moment, I felt an anguish that I've never been able to quite describe in even my lowest of moments. It was as if, as I was staring into his eyes, I was watching the world being born and dying in one breath. Beautiful and dark, lovely and heartbreaking.

Bittersweet.

Even as I began trudging through an echo of an existence in Woodsford, I knew that I was dying in some manner. I knew that I would never truly go on, even if I lived. Because, trite and cliché as it may be, Piers took such a large part of me with him. I may have gone on, I may have gone back to the BSAA, but it would have never been wholly me.

Which is why, now, lying here in the early morning, feeling his arm tighten around my waist like it's so want to do, feeling his cheek nuzzling into my neck, I can truthfully say that I've never felt more complete; and the earth has never before had such a beautiful birth.

"G'Morning." His voice barely reaches my ear, choked with that first stretch of trying to wake up.

I kiss his forehead. "Hey."

He lifts his head to face me and it takes every bit of willpower to not cringe at the ever-growing patch of marred skin on his face. He kisses me sweetly before hopping out of bed and ducking into the the kitchen, naked and limping slightly. Though, whether he's limping from his condition or the rough treatment I gave him last night, I'm not sure.

I relax into the pillows, comfortable to just listen to him bustling around the small space, smiling at the memories of last night. Of finally having him.

And war had nothing to do with it. Circumstance had nothing to do... with it...

Well. I suppose circumstance had nothing to do with it. Right? Although, where else can he go? Who else can he be with? And maybe he only remembers me because I was the last person he saw before... Maybe his memories of me are skewed; maybe he's projecting love onto me because he's confused and just wanting some kind of affection because of everything he's been through.

If that's the case, what kind of man am I, taking advantage of him?

There it is again: That same fear I've head since day one. I probably did take advantage of him.

"Chris."

When I shoved him against that wall in that shit-hole all that time ago, he probably felt he had to let me fuck him.

"Chris."

And I never gave him a chance to respond, did I? I never did.

"_**Chris**_."

I'm jolted from my thoughts to find Piers kneeling beside me, a cup of cocoa complete with mini marshmallows extended towards me.

Piers is holding a soft grin, but it's starting to fade the longer I just let him sit there, so I quickly grab the mug and offer the brightest smile I can while saying "thanks" and taking a sip.

It's delicious. I remember him wanting me to get the chocolate and marshmallows last time I went to the store, but I'd forgotten about them since.

"We should go into town today, see what Woodsford is like on Christmas Eve. I should just see what this town has to offer, anyway."

"Main Street's your best bet; _**everything's**_ there."

"Oh really?" He settles cross-legged beside me, and I can't help but stare. Leon and Helena— and Jake, I suppose —really did bring him back from the dead. The arm that had been elongated and monstrous was now normal-sized and functional, just patch-worked, scarred, and slightly cavernous— his chest is the same. And his face is much better, too, than on the day of the incident.

But it's spreading again, and it makes me want to find religion just so I have an excuse to curse god and turn my back on him.

I meet his gaze and realize he's expecting me to say something, and, quite eloquently, I state, "You're naked."

"So are you, under the covers." He sets his mug on the nightstand and reaches over to the floor, snapping up my one scarf from the night before and putting it on. "Better?"

I mirroring his movement and set my drink down, pulling Piers into my lap. "Much."

Piers indulges me in a deep, slow kiss running his fingers over cheeks I haven't shaved in over a week before nuzzling my beard. "I kind of like this look on you. Your hair's getting longer, too." To make his point, his takes a firm grip of my hair and pulls my head back, exposing my neck before licking from my collarbone to my jaw.

But I can't let him start anything until I have a straight answer about something; or, at least, a little bit of answer about something. "Piers..." I gently grab his shoulder and push him back a bit. "Let me ask you something: You say you have memories of me, right?"

"Yeah. They're fuzzy, but they're there."

"How... How do you feel about me in those dreams?"

He's still in my lap, but he sits back a little, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

Would you be here if you had another choice? Would your memories be of a lost lover or a lost Captain if the roles had been reversed?

Do you really love me?

"Chris?" He looks worried now, but I can't find anything to say, despite being the one to start the whole mess.

"I'm sorry," I finally mutter. "I'm just... Let's go into town. We'll grab some stuff for Christmas dinner. And..." I pull him close to me again, kissing his nose, "I might even be able to get you a present."

His smile's back. Good. "Alright. I'll go now. On one condition."

"What might that be?"

"This," he gestures to my scarf draped over his form, "is my early Christmas present."

Chuckling, I nod, "Deal."

* * *

I'd gotten a quick call from the realtor while Piers was shower, saying the sale of our new home had gone through, and all that was left before being handed the deed was to sign a few papers, so I made a deal with Piers to drop him off in town for a bit, go do the dirty work, then meet him again for lunch.

Seemed like a good way for the day to go.

I let Piers off at the foot of Main Street, beckoning him over to my window and giving him a quick peck. "You sure you're okay by yourself?"

"Yeah. We're soldiers, right? Walking through Woodsford should be a piece of cake."

"Yeah, get some cake, too, if you see a bakery. I haven't had cake in a long time."

He pulls me in for one final kiss before tighten my scarf around his neck and beginning his first trek through town, already being greeted by locals who've come to hear tales of the two war heroes Chris and Finn setting up camp along the town's border.

It only takes me ten minutes to reach the farmhouse, and there's a very familiar truck parked outside when I arrive.

Kyle's sitting on the front porch, smoking, a stack of papers weighted down by a brick beside him. "You know how my mom owns the only grocery store?"

"Let me guess," I chuckle as I approach him, "your sister's the realtor?"

"Cousin."

"Fantastic."

"I really hope I didn't cause any problems with you and Piers last night."

"No, it's fine. Actually gave us a good chance to, uh, talk about a few things." I'm about to ask about the deeds when a thought smacks me, "What did you call him?"

"Piers. That's what you called him last night, right? I thought maybe 'Finn' was a nickname or something."

I start sweating a bit, despite how bundled-up I am and how hard the cold air's whipping about my face.

I don't have much time to respond as the clear sound of crunching gravel invades the conversation.

It's a government vehicle, or so it appears, and it parks too close to my truck.

An agent (or, as I call them, Suits) slides from the black car and removes his sunglasses, surveying the scene around him.

I suppress a rising anxiousness in my gut. "Can I help you?"

The Suit walks over, pulling a wallet from his designer jacket and flashing a badge. "How are you, Mr. Redfield?" He's BSAA. He doesn't state his name, nor do I recognize him, but his credentials are unmistakeable.

Goddammit. Keep it together, Chris. "What can I do for you?"

"I think you know exactly what you can do for me, Mr. Redfield. Where's Piers Nivans?"

"I don't know what you're—"

"There are several ways we can go about this, Chris, only one of which you'll have any piece of mind left afterward. We found the cathedral. We found Leon Kennedy's research. We know Jake Mueller's on the lam." He pulls a cell phone from his pocket and tosses it on the ground at my feet; it matches the one Leon gave me. "Where is Piers?"

"Chris Redfield lives by himself." Kyle puts out his cigarette and steps down the stairs of the front porch, bring the act of sale documents with him and handing them to the agent. "Woodsford requires all people living within a homestead to produce proper paperwork and have their names on the deed, per item sixteen of the 1996 homeowner statutes started in Wisconsin. Chris' name is the only one there."

If Kyle is hawking bullshit, it's damn convincing, especially considering he's holding the agent's gaze as if nothing he's said could possibly be disputed.

With a slight nod, the agent hands the papers back to Kyle, turning a hard gaze on me, stating, "One day, Redfield. You know as well as I do how thin your employer's patience runs."

Kyle and I stand silently watching as the agent gets in his car and slowly drives away, eyes on us the entire time.

When we can no longer hear the crunch of the tires on the snow covered ground, Kyle speaks before I can. "We can reverse the sale. If you start now, you can cover a lot of ground."

"It's pointless running; the BSAA tagged me."

"Are you sure they tagged you personally?"

"Well..."

"Did they ever have a chance?"

No. No, they didn't. I shake my head.

"Then here," digging in his pocket, he pulls out his keys, removing the one for his truck from the ring and tossing it to me. "Give me yours."

"Kyle—"

"It's non-negotiable. C'mon."

I do so, however reluctantly. "I shouldn't let you get involved in this. If they really tagged my truck and they find out—"

"I'm a grown man, Chris; I can make my own decisions. It's fine." He pauses at the hood of my Cheyenne, running his fingers lightly across the hood. "Besides, I can't let you go driving off with this thing sanded-down; I really need to paint it."

I stare at the key he's handed me and turn it over several times as if it's holding some message for me. "Thanks, Kyle," I finally manage.

"I don't know what's going on, but Piers obviously needs you. And, for whatever reason, I trust you. So take care, Chris."

It feels as if I'm constantly left standing alone, watching as people leave, but it happens again as Kyle speeds away, refusing to look back.

I decide that it's pointless to waste time, so I let Piers continue on his winter wonderland adventure while I speed home, packing being my plan. The only thing I pack is clothes, knowing we don't need anything to tie or weigh us down.

Well, I pack the bear ornament Piers was so fond of. We do need _**something**_ for wherever we're going to start over.

And I'm back in Kyle's truck again. Or, _**my**_ truck now, I guess I should say. I have a feeling Piers and I are going to be doing a lot of driving in the near future.

But he's worth it. Completely worth it. If we have to buy a trailer and just spend our lives traveling, I'll be perfectly content.

That's actually not such a bad idea.

I've zoned out, because the next thing I know, Piers is climbing into the truck and say, "This isn't the rusty Cheyenne you had an hour ago." He look at the back seat and his features darken. "What the hell happened?"

"The BSAA caught up to us. I really don't know anything else other than they want you; and they're _**not**_ getting you."

"So we have to go? Lovely. And the truck?"

"I did a bit of a trade; we should be harder to track, at least for a bit."

He slumps back in the seat, which is much more comfortable than the Cheyenne had been, and closes his eyes, letting out a long sigh. "Well," he finally murmurs, "I guess if we're going through it together, we'll... get through it..."

I reach over and squeeze his hand. "Let's just get to the interstate. We'll figure out where we're going from there."

Piers is quiet throughout the entire time I speed along the wooded back-roads to the interstate, content to fiddle relentlessly with the radio dial until something resembling 70's rock comes through.

"Not one fucking cd in here," he mutters at one point.

Towards late evening, we decide that Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, will be our next stop; it's large enough that we should be able to blend in and go unnoticed.

Piers is still just reclining, his gaze never faltering from the window.

I just leave him to daydream and eventually drift into sleep. Who knows what he may go through in the near future?

* * *

It's well after midnight when I finally pull over to a 24-hour drug store, leaving Piers in the truck to keep sleeping.

I pay cash for a disposable mobile phone and call Leon, not giving a shit anymore if his line's secure.

He picks up after seven rings. "Hello?"

"Merry Christmas."

"Why the hell are you calling me on this line?"

"It's getting worse."

"What is?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about."

"I already told you there's nothing else I can do. If... _**things...**_ are worsening, I'm sorry, but I can't offer you anything."

I'm leaning against the side of the drug store, head pounding, chest tightening. "Please... please... Anything. Give me anything. They said there was research—"

"For others not as far progressed as... as what you're dealing with." There's a long pause. A defeated sigh. A rustling of papers. A woman's voice in the background. "You've got a second chance. Instead of spending it worrying and not taking advantage of the time you _**do**_ have, go enjoy what's left."

"'What-what's left'?"

"There may not _**be**_ much time left. Don't waste it."

"Leon—"

"I'm in a lot of shit right now. I'll get in contact when I can." With that, the line dies.

And I can feel that welling of tears beginning, blurring my vision, shooting tremors through my body, down to my feet, weakening my knees. My hand flies to my mouth to keep the sob that almost escaped at bay.

I can't let Piers see me like this. If what Leon says is true, if we only have a little time left together, then I'm not taking it for granted.

I'm taking advantage of it.


	12. Ornament

picmurasaki on Tumblr illustrated what is, at this point, my favorite scene in the whole story. It's now the "cover art" for this story :)

* * *

12. Ornament.

We stopped at a major hotel chain about fifty miles outside of our destination. No more small towns, no chance for anyone to get to know us. Kyle's already in too much danger as it is; I'm not dragging anyone else into it.

Piers has been silently seething for about an hour as I pull the truck around to our room for the night. I know something's coming. I can't quite pin-point when the air in the truck shifted, but I know some kind of storm's coming.

I throw the truck into park and just sit, waiting for an outburst. But I don't get one. Warily, I glance in his direction and am met with two trails of tears gracefully cresting his cheek before hitting his lap.

And I can find nothing to say, so he speaks for me, albeit much too softly, "Why didn't you ask me?"

I'm slightly taken aback. Ask him about what? "I don't know what you mean."

"About leaving. One moment you're dropping me off in town in a beat-up truck, the next minute you're swinging by in a new vehicle with a couple of suitcases in the back and almost no explanation."

"Piers, you kept shutting me down when I'd try to talk about it; I thought you didn't want to hear any of it."

"It's not that." His voice is steady, there's no hitch, but more tears are flowing. "How can you keep doing this? How can you just start running like this? You've got to have a life, family... What about your career?"

I don't answer him. I exit the truck and throw open the door to the backseat, digging around in the suitcases for something.

I can hear the passenger door slam shut and heavy footfalls round the bed to bring Piers fuming beside me.

"I'm not worth an answer, then?"

He's talking, but I don't really listen to him. I _**know**_ I packed that thing... Where is it?

"...could've talked to them! We didn't _**have**_ to run! We were welcome there..."

I specifically packed this thing! Where in the hell...?

"...you're old teammates. And I was there in the thick of it, too, apparently..."

Goddammit, if I don't have this thing... Wait, is that it? Oh, thank christ, that's it.

He's mid-sentence when he suddenly finds something shoved in his hands and my fingers wrap around his.

"Here," I murmur, a smile slightly breaking across my face. "This is your answer."

Piers is shell-shocked, staring open-mouthed at the small bear in his hands. "This..."

"We need something for wherever we're settling down. And you loved this little guy."

"That's because it's you," he whispers. "My bear. My protector." There's more tears now. In all the time I've known Piers, he never let his facade slip, not once. So for him to be so open now...

My hands tighten around his and I bring them to my lips, kissing each in turn, even as they cling to the ornament. "I'll always be your protector," I vow. "Or your bear, however you'd like to view it."

He laughs, bringing his gaze from the bear to me. He says something, three words, but I'm not quite sure I hear him.

"What did you say?"

With a small grin, he finally says it: "I love you." And now his lips are seeking mine, right there in front of the hotel off of the main interstate, right in front of the rest of the world. An older couple passes us, a look of disgust quite predominant, but it doesn't even effect me.

Pulling away from Piers, I grab the suitcases I just ravaged and nod for him to follow me to the room. My heart's pounding, my knees are wobbling, my hands are shaking, and I have no idea how I managed to actually dig the key from my pocket and swipe open the door, but here we are. The suitcases are left by the door as I pull Piers against me, careful to set the bear down on the dresser and out of harm's way.

There was something about hearing that phrase... Like the first time he said my name in ecstasy... I'm not begging when I ask him to say it again; I'm just asking, just seeking a little bit of confirmation that it was actually said.

"I love you, Chris," he breathes against my neck.

Christ, I need him. But more than that: I need him to claim me. He's already mine, already completely given himself over to me.

I need to do the same.

"I want you." My lips fall to his and start the dance we've come to love.

"Then take me."

"No." I pull back, holding his face in my hands. "Take _**me**_. Make me yours, Piers. I need you in me, in every recess you can imagine, in any way you can think of. Just claim me."

Without a word, he takes my hand and leads me to stand in front of the full-length mirror outside of the bathroom. Standing behind me, he removes my jacket, letting fall to the floor. The hem of my shirt is grabbed and lifted over my head and his arms wrap around me from behind and run across my stomach, up my chest, over my arms.

"Look at me," he asks, not demands, and our eyes lock in the mirror. "This man right here, this man in my arms: He's mine. His heart? It's mine." His hands slide down my torso where they meet my belt, which in turn meets the floor shortly after. "There is nothing, _**nothing**_, to keep me from him— Not even death." As he makes me kick off my boots and my pants and my boxers join the every-growing piling of clothing, he stands behind me again, twining our fingers together and resting our hands over my heart. "We'll beat as one. There will never be Nivans without Redfield. Because you're mine, Chris." He places a kiss to my shoulder. "And I'm yours."

Grown, war-hardened men shouldn't cry, especially if they found themselves weeping outside of a drug store a mere three hours earlier. But tears line my eyes. Not a lot, and not aggressively, but there's a different kind of swelling within me that I'm not used to.

Maybe the tears have no other place to go?

Or maybe Piers has just said the one thing I've been waiting my whole life to hear.

He leads me to the bed and seats me on the edge, staying within arms reach so that I can help him strip, kissing skin as it's peeled away, even the scars, which have neither lessened nor advanced since yesterday.

Piers goes about positioning me, laying me on my back against some pillows, one of which is shoved under my hips, before ducking into the bathroom and returning with what looks like lotion.

I know what's coming and, as much as I want it, it's still frightening. To be _**that**_ vulnerable to someone, to be that splayed, that taken.

I'll be at his mercy. But that's what I want. I want him to take down the one final wall that will make me completely his. That thought helps wipe away the fear.

Settling himself between my legs, he catches my eye, catches the nervousness I'm trying so hard to stifle. "Are you sure about this, Chris?"

Of course, though I've terrified of the unknown right now. "I want you, Piers. Take me."

Piers has different smiles. His polite, out in public smile. His proud of himself smile. His mocking me smiling. And then one smile that I know only I'm privileged enough to be graced with— the smile that's the most genuine, most open, most pure. And it's seeing that smile right now that only confirms what I've known for a while: I love this man more than I've any right to. I'd spend the rest of my life running just as long as he kept his pace beside me.

I would have gladly traded places in the escape pod for him.

Piers is still watching my face intently as one now-slicked finger begins its slide into me, and I already feel full. But it's not bad, especially since Piers is leaning over me, kissing my jaw, murmuring how beautiful I look underneath him. It makes the second and third fingers easy to tolerate, especially since the pain is something I wasn't expecting. I knew it would hurt, I'm not an idiot, but I didn't think it would _**hurt**_.

And Piers took me dry all that time ago? Fuck. With that in mind, I take a deep breath and force myself to relax, trying to find a rhythm in the motion of those fingers scissoring in and out, working me open.

Something happens. Something has me gripping Piers' shoulders and practically shouting his name. "What did you do?"

"That was the spot," Piers chuckles.

Wow. "That's the spot...?" My head falls back against the pillows and I laugh. "Goddamn..."

Little white spots hit my vision when Piers finds the spot again and assaults it, making me writhe beneath him within moments, actually begging him to stop so he can fuck me.

I feel like I need it now, which is something that's never entered my mind.

An emptiness overtakes me when he removes his fingers, but he wastes no time in lining up the tip of his cock, taking my legs and wrapping them around his waste as he slides his head in and leans over me, kissing me the entire time he begins to thrust shallowly into me, going deeper each time.

I can't take it already. To have him in me, over me, kissing me... I can't take it.

When he's finally buried within me to the hilt, I push my hips forwards, signaling him to move. And he does, quite happily. The rhythm he sets is slow, almost like a dance, but it's perfect.

This needs to last. It can't last forever, but we're trying our damnedest not to rush it.

The thrust of his hips slows as he gets closer to the brink and I don't push him to speed up. We're acting as if this will be our only chance to be like this, and, quite frankly, we're not promised tomorrow.

Especially with there being no other cure for Piers.

I wrap my arms around his back and pull him flush against me, even as he continues moving. "You're not leaving."

"Of course I'm not," he whispers, drawing me into another kiss.

It's perfect. Even our orgasms are slow and sensual, not primal and explosive. And it's the most incredible feeling I've ever known.

Piers moves to find something to clean us with but I keep him firmly pressed against me. "Just a minute," I breath. "Just lay here one minute." I just need to make sure he's really still here beside me.

God help the BSAA if they try to tear him from me.

Piers doesn't argue, merely cuddles into me, kissing my neck. "I love you."

There it is again: Those beautiful words. "I love you, too," I murmur into his hair.

Now this..._**This **_ is how it should be. Just like this.


	13. Scarf

13. Scarf.

"It's one o'clock."

"It's the middle of the night. Go back to sleep."

"It's one o'clock in the afternoon."

"Then it's the middle of the day. Go back to sleep." I pull Piers' back against my chest, nuzzling the back of his neck. "You smell good."

"I smell like sweat and sex," he chuckles.

"I know."

"Are we really not moving?"

Every time I move, small pangs shoot through my lower body. It's not crippling pain or anything, but it's enough that I really have no motivation to get up. "I'm content to just stay here, thank you."

I groan as he pulls out of my grasp, hopping off of the bed and padding to the bathroom. "I'm going down to the lobby, see if they have a restaurant or anything. At least get some snacks." He steps back into my line of sight, dressing himself. "Any requests?"

"Hurry up and get your ass back in this bed."

With a quick wave and a snatch of my wallet, Piers ducks out, leaving me alone in the quiet room. I'm sure he'll only be a few minutes, so I let myself drift off again, turning on my stomach and stretching out, taking up almost the whole bed.

I check the clock. 1:35. I really did drift off. I'm sure Piers will be back soon.

I close my eyes for just a moment, but the clock reads 2:45 when I check it. Shit. It's been over an hour. Maybe he found a restaurant and decided to make me wait while he eats. Well, okay.

Gingerly, I push myself off of the bed and hobble around until I'm comfortable enough to fall into a decent stride, dressing quickly before heading to the lobby, and I'm humming to myself. Heh. I must be in a really good mood.

But when I arrive in the lobby expecting to just hop in the attached restaurant and find Piers shoveling steak in his mouth, I'm greeted with disappointment. Same thing in the gift shop. Goddammit, where is he? Maybe he made it back to the room and I missed him.

A slight twinge of panic doesn't settle in the pit of my gut until I find our hotel room empty.

He's completely gone.

He took my wallet, but he left my keys, so I find myself in the truck, driving around searching for over three hours. But there's no sign of Piers. I've stopped at every store I pass and no one's seen him.

I go back to the hotel and check the room again. Nothing.

It's the fifth hour of searching that I decide to get out of the truck and begin hunting up and down the city alleyways, which leads to forking over what little change was left in my pockets in order to try to get useless info from some homeless scattered about.

There's a cough and a grab at my pants. "I know who you're looking for."

Yanking my leg away, I look down to see a younger man huddled-up in three or four worn coats, shivering. "How do you know?"

"Because _**someone**_ has to be looking for that freak, and you're big enough to leash him." More coughing. "Headed toward Cravath Lake. But ya better hurry. Cops'll be on him soon enough. He already beat up a few people along the way."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Guy with the messed up face, right? That who you lookin' for? Yeah, he swept through here like an hour ago. I made sure to stay the fuck outta his way."

Ignoring his plea for change, I book it back to the truck, flipping the engine and hunting for signs pointing towards Cravath.

It's another twenty minutes before I'm finally able to park and jog down a well-beaten path to the lake.

"Piers..."

He's hunched over on the shoreline when I find him, hands clenched in the dirt, form trembling. As I approach I can see that his clothes are torn and bloodstained and the scarf he took from me that he loved so much is shredded beside him.

"Piers... Piers. P—" Before the rest of his name passes my lips, he leaps up and tackles me, practically snarling as he pins my arms above my head.

We stay that way for a long time, me staying as still as I can while Piers just heaves above me, seemingly sizing me up. Finally, _**finally**_, his grip lessens and he sits back on his heels, covering his face with his bloody hands.

"I couldn't help it," he murmurs through his fingers. The only thing I can think to do is sit up and wrap my arms around him, but he jumps to his feet, shaking his head. "You can't wish this away! You can't just... hug me and say a few good words and it'll all be okay!" He's pacing now, his breathing still erratic, his arms flying around in wild gestures.

"Piers, just tell me what happened." I find it better at this moment to stay where I am on the ground, trying to seem less of a towering presence and just let him talk.

"I think I killed someone, Chris. I mean... I don't think I did... Shit, I know I hurt someone..." He pauses in his motions, hanging his head. "I blacked out. I blacked out and when I started coming-to, I found myself running this way. I've got blood on my hands, I'm... just messed up..." Seemingly more out of exhaustion than anything else, Piers crumples to his knees again, but this time he doesn't pull away when I make my way to his side and wrap my arms around him.

"We're gonna make this better, Piers."

"I told you that wouldn't fix anything."

But it's all I can do. I just hold him closer to me wait for his shaking to subside. But it doesn't; it worsens.

"Chris, you have to promise me something." Piers meets my eyes and there's something swimming beneath the surface that I just can't place. "If I get worse, you have to put me down."

I hear his words, but I don't understand them. "Put you _**down**_...?"

"I couldn't even go get food without losing control, Chris. If my body just keeps rejecting Jake's blood, you've gotta promise me that you'll put me down." He's resolute in his declaration and it hits me like a shot.

"Piers, there's absolutely no way I can promise that." My words are hitched and I can't keep my voice as placid as I want. "I can't promise you that."

"You have to. If you really love me, Chris, you're gonna have to promise me that. I have to know that you'll protect me; that's part of it." He grips my forearm and forces me to look at him. "Promise me."

"I _**can't**_. I already lost you once; there's no way I'd be able to be the one responsible for losing you again."

There's a long sigh and a stretch of quiet before Piers mutters, "I just want to go home. And I ruined your scarf."

"We can get a new scarf. And we can find a new home. We can actually do both of those things as soon as we get some food in our stomachs and another round of sleep."

Nodding, Piers stands, but he doesn't wait for me before making his way back to the truck.

I already know why he won't wait, so I call after him, "I _**can't**_ promise you, Piers."

"I know. I wouldn't be able to promise you, either." He leans his head against the truck door and sighs again. "Let's just go."


	14. A N

So I've been listening to a lot of the reviews and readers and I have decided that, while I am going to continue with the story as it is now, I'm going to go back to chapter 8 and have another version, one that will stick more closely to my original idea for Not Like This. It will only be posted on my Tumblr, but I will post the links to the alternate chapters here. The story is the same up until chapter 8, where I make some changes. The changes and added scenes are more noticeable in chapter 9. Chapter 10 is completely new.

Again, this version will continue, but I'm also going to have the alternate version as well.

Just go to my Tumblr and paste these behind my main address:

Chap 8: /post/37325208637/not-like-this-8-revisited

Chap 9: /post/37348609394/not-like-this-9-revisited

Chap 10: /post/37932990265/not-like-this-revisited-10


	15. Ale

Thanks for those still following! For those of you having trouble with the Tumblr version, I will be uploading it here within the next couple of days under "Not Like This Revisited."

* * *

14. Ale.

I've heard that cliché of being in the same room with someone who seems a thousand miles away. I know it's completely possible. Did I think I'd have to experience it first hand? Not really.

It's a bit like having sand in your eyes that just won't leave, but you're holding a conversation with someone important, so you can't try to rid yourself of the irritant. You just have to take it and hope it magically corrects itself. You can twitch a bit, wait for the opportunity to take advantage of a laughing moment and close your eyes and hope you can quickly wiggle it out, but all it truly seems to do it drive you closer and closer to insanity and distract you from the things right before you that need your attention.

Piers is apparently the sand in my eye. And I certainly can't let him see me try to get it out.

I'd heard "I'm sorry" too many times from him, so I convinced him to take a shower and calm down. Though I also made sure the door was left unlocked.

Just in case.

The water's been running for a good hour now, but I'm not disturbing him. I've been there before, where all you seem to want in life is just to huddle under the hot streams of water and let them beat you into a feeling of warmth and comfort, praying to anything and everything that it helps, that it can wash some of the shit away. That's why I'm not rushing him. I was thinking that _**maybe**_ I'd be the one he would turn to... But I'm not offended. Not by any means.

But, still... it _**has**_ been an hour at this point. I've unnoticeably peeked in a couple of times just to make sure he was still conscious, still standing, still... Piers.

My hand unconsciously begins rubbing my chest, trying vainly to sooth the ache there. But a physical act cannot truly counter-act a metaphorical pain. I've learned that the hard way in my life.

The water finally shuts off and I wait with bated breath as to what mood I'll be greeted with when he enters back into the room. For some reason, I'm much too anxious.

And now I'm counting the seconds, tempted to go back to check on him.

So I do, but it's not of my own accord. My feet have become separate entities and have just begun moving towards the bathroom, not bothering to consult with my brain as to whether or not this is a good idea.

Tentatively, I knock, honestly not expecting Piers to throw open the door, naked.

There are no tears and traces of anger, but exhaustion is prominently displayed in the hunch of his shoulders and the droop of his face. "It's spread," he murmurs.

And, yes, it has. Not only are the dark patches spreading, but the skin is starting to mutate again, slight ridges and dips forming where once skin was smooth. And it's spreading down his stomach and right thigh.

I almost take a step forward, my hand reaching out to touch, but I think better of it and stop abruptly.

Of course Piers would interrupt it as me being disgusted. "I know..."

"Piers—"

"No. No, it's okay. I have no illusions about this."

Goddammit. You're going to be okay. "Piers, I..." Christ, I can't think of anything to say.

"I know. It's not going to stop."

I want to drop to my knees and wrap my arms around his waist, worship him, but what would that really do?

"I've accepted it," he adds quietly. "At least, that's what I'm telling myself. I've just going to keep going with the idea that I've accepted it all and just keep going." He turns back into the bathroom and slips on some discarded sweatpants before slipping past me and heading to the bed. "But you're going to have to keep on eye on me."

I know. I know I'll have to watch you for the rest of... The rest of whatever we have. Leash you like a dog, cage you like a beast eventually.

How many times can a man say goddammit in one minute?

Piers has crawled under the covers, looking at me expectantly, yet I'm just standing in the foyer like a idiot who has no idea what his next move his supposed to be.

But... I _**am**_ an idiot who has no idea what my next move is supposed to be.

"Chris?"

He wants me to get in bed. He wants me to hold him. He wants some form of comfort. He wants a physical reassurance that I'll stand by him. He wants... "I have to..." You don't need to do anything outside of this room, Chris. You need to help him. Get in the fucking bed and just _**be there**_. "I have to go check on something at the desk." No you don't, you fucking dick.

Piers merely nods, the sadness in his eyes easy to glimpse, though terribly hard to digest.

But what's terrifying is how easily I can walk away from the sadness right now. How can I just walk out of the room and down to the hotel's lobby? What the hell is wrong with me?

I just need to breathe. Just... one moment... one moment of...

One moment of normality.

Thank god the restaurant has a bar. I sidle up and order a shot, swigging it quickly before requesting a stout ale, taking my time with the thick liquid, almost adoringly letting it slide down my throat, imagining all of my stress sliding away with it, down into an acidic pit where it'll perish.

"You look like you want to forget something."

It takes me a moment before I realize the bartender's speaking to me. I grunt through the ale before saying, "Isn't that the only kind of person you get down here at this time of day?"

"Sweetheart, it's still early," she chuckles. "And I haven't seen anyone with _**that**_ look in their eyes in a very long time."

"And what look might that be?"

"Lost. Searching. Like you wish you didn't have to give a damn anymore."

She seems relatively young, but she's got me pegged. "You're pretty intuitive."

"There's no one else at the bar, as you can see..." She leans on folded arms on the bar, a side-smile gracing her features. "I've got two ears if you need them."

Christ, do I need to talk to someone! But how?

"Alright, …?"

"Miranda."

"Alright, Miranda. Have you ever been in a situation that you can't walk away from— I mean it's just absolutely not even an option to leave —but it's chipping away so much at your sanity that you're about to go to a zoo and live with the lions because that would just be easier?"

"Jesus christ," she chuckles. "Um... Well, I hate this job. Every now and then I'll get someone like you, someone who makes the night not so bad. But for the most part it's tourists and businessmen sneaking looks down my shirt and 'accidentally' grabbing my ass whenever they get a chance. And my boss is a certifiable asshole. I mean, she's literally certifiable; did a stint in a mental facility last year. But anyway. I can't leave because I have a son, no husband, and jobs are few and far between. And, yes, while I'd rather go live with lions, who would watch my kid if I did that?"

I'm just staring at her, but I know there's no traces of a lecherous nature in my eyes.

"Is there anyone, anything, that drives you?"

"The other person in the situation with me."

"Well, where are they? Shouldn't they be down here sharing the drink with you? Surely they're going through an emotional roller coaster like you are."

"A worse one."

"Well, there ya go!"

"There what goes?"

"If another person is going through this with you, why are you talking to _**me**_ about it?"

"Because I've already let them see me..." my voice trails and my gaze is cast downward. Words are just fucking eluding me all of a sudden.

But Miranda's voice is soft as she asks, "How have you let them see you?"

"Weak!" I blurt, taking a chug of the ale. "I've already let them see me too damn weak."

"And are they still there?"

Well... "Yeah."

"Then what in hell's the problem? If they've seen you weak and they're still here, obviously they can handle it."

"But what if _**I **_cant'? What if _**I**_ can't handle them seeing me like that?"

"Well, that's a personal problem, isn't it? Obviously has nothing to do with them. That's called growing some balls and getting over it."

I'm not particularly liking what this random bartender is telling me, but that's mostly because she's _**right**_. With a quick nod, I pay my tab, leave a good tip and make my way over to the sundries shop, scooping up a bag of gummi bears before my way back to the room.

The air in the room has a slight chill to it, but it's not from the a/c.

"I'm sorry," I say from the small foyer.

There's a rustling of blankets and a small, "C'mere."

Slipping off my shoes, I climb into bed, pulling Piers to my chest and setting the candy on the bed in front of him. "I got you gummi bears."

I feel his fingers entwine with mine and a contented sigh hits my ears. "I'm just glad you're back. Let's just stay like this for a little bit."

I let my silence and the kiss I place to the back of his neck be my obliging answer. And I certainly am not going to bring up the fact that his left hand appears to be darkening. Not now, at least.

I'm praying there'll be time to address that tomorrow.


	16. Prelude

Almost at the end of this version. Things will be tied together in 2 or 3 more chapters, then I can focus completely on 'Revisited.

* * *

15. Prelude

"_You want to bend over here or on the bed?"_

_Piers' head snaps to me and I see the barest hint of hesitation flicker across those golden orbs, but he says nothing._

_All patience has left me as I repeat, "Here or on the bed?"_

_His mouth opens and closes several times but he doesn't answer me, instead allowing a tremble to visibly travel up his bare spine. _

_My mouth's watering. The beast is awakened._

_And Piers has lost his right to choose._

_My mouth's on his ear and I know he feels my hot breath as I growl, "_**Bend. Over.**_" and practically push his face down into the sofa. But he doesn't fight. Quite the opposite, actually._

_Instantly he's bent in half, his ass presented to me in such a way that I have to run my palms over his rear, massaging the flesh hidden beneath these thin boxers, reveling in the way I see and feel him rhythmically tensing, anticipation settling into his bones._

_It's making the beast salivate. _

"_Such a beautiful soldier..." I murmur, my hands traveling from his ass to his back, one hand tangling in his growing locks. "I think you like being bent over and splayed for your Captain, don't you?"_

_His lips finally separate as if to speak and I take the opportunity to shove the tips of three fingers in his mouth, letting them rest on his full bottom lip. "Suck them as hard as you want to be fucked, Soldier."_

_And suck he does. Desperately, earnestly, trying to communicate the treatment he's seeking. _

"_Begging with your mouth," I huff and revel in the feel of his snake-like tongue dipping between my fingers. "I like it..." There's a drag of his teeth across my fingers and a nip, followed by more lapping with that wonderful digit. "You want to be fucked hard, don't you, pup?" _

_He moans something beautiful and sucks my fingers in as far as they'll go, his whimpers barely stifled around the three intruders. _

"_Suck 'em good, kid... Remember, this is what's gonna open you up for me."_

_The moan I'm greeted with is loud, wanton. Fuck foreplay; I've never been good at it anyway._

_I yank my hand from him and drop to my knees, taking the band of his boxers between my teeth and dragging them over his cheeks, fingernails from dry fingers tracing red lines down his thighs and calves. _

"_C-captain..."_

"_Quiet, pet. I didn't tell you to speak." I guide his boxers from his legs and help him to widen his stance, my drying fingers playing with the twitching circle of muscle I'm much too eager to enter. "But, yes, remember who your Captain is."_

_My tongue joins my fingers at his entrance and dips beyond the ring, my free hand gripping bruises into his perfect thigh. "You taste delicious, pet."_

_He's purring now, almost keening, his back arching, ass trying to seek more purchase with my tongue and fingers. _

_But I'm done anyway. Enough with this preparation bullshit; I've taken him dry, for fuck's sake, and he's leaning towards masochistic tendencies. _

_I stand, leaning fully over his still-bent form, one hand wrapping around his neck to make sure he stays firmly in place while the other frees my cock from it's jean confines and guides the already leaking head to Piers' now-glistening hole. _

"_Cap—"_

"_I told you not to speak, pup." The head of my dick breaches the muscled circle, welcoming the tight heat I've grown to crave. _

_Piers lets a sound slip but quickly retrieves, biting a pillow to keep me from having to correct him again. _

_I wait only a moment before fully encasing myself in his heat, letting the muscles tightening and forcibly relax around me, not bothering to silence my own moan of pure lust. "So tight, pup. I think I'm the only one who's bent you over and taken you like this... Good."_

_He's dry. He's tight. It's painful. But I push past that. I have his face still pressed firmly into the sofa cushions as I begin to set a brutal pace, ignoring the red stain trickling down Piers' leg now._

"_You're doing good, pup," I grunt. "Taking it like the soldier you are."_

_There are loud moans, but nothing else as he lets me continue to abuse his body. And I do, finally letting go of his neck to secure my grip on his waist, my hips pistoning so roughly into him that I know I myself will have bruises tomorrow. But that's a small price to pay for having my soldier, the coveted prize of Piers Nivans, bent over and allowing me to fuck him raw. _

_I see one hand sneak its way to his weeping arousal so I reach down and knock it away. "You're not coming that way, pup. You're gonna cum from me pounding your ass."_

_Piers' hands are fisting and uncurling now, his muffled cries growing so loud they sound as if he were yelling into my ear. _

"_Good, pup. You can scream if you want. I like hearing how much you love my cock deep in your ass; you're gonna make me cum if you keep it up."_

_Without my hand to keep him down, Piers pushes upward on his forearms and begins fucking back, his moans intensifying. _

"_Good boy, Piers... I'm almost there... Almost..."_

* * *

I wake suddenly in the same hotel room, the bed starkly empty. Panic sets in. Kicking the sheets off, I scramble to my feet, only to come face to face with a half-dressed Piers staring blankly out the window.

"You okay, Piers?"

His gaze stays forward as he stretches out his right arm, silhouetted against the sunrise. Ridges.

I knew the cure was fading fast; I just didn't want to believe it. Not now.

"You're going to have to do it," he murmurs.

"Do what, exactly?"

"Put me down."

That makes me move. Right to his side. My arms find their way around his torso, one hands tracing patterns over the now rising, hardened flesh.

"I'm mutating back."

"It could just be a temporary setback."

There's a humourless chuckle as Piers settles back against my chest. "It's worsening every day, Chris. At this rate, I won't even be able to go out in public soon."

"You'll be fine. Let me make a phone, okay?" With a quick kiss, I throw on my jack, grab my phone, and head to the lobby.

* * *

Leon sighs for the dozenth time. "Chris... I've got nothing for you. I don't even know why I answer for you anymore."

I'm hunched over in a chair in the lobby, my whispers rough. "He's halfway back to deformity, Leon, you've got to give me something."

"Why do I get the feeling you're looking for false hope right now?"

He's got me. "The kid's losing his will. Maybe I do need some hope; anything to tell him to make him think he's got more time than he really does."

"Then lie, Chris. If that's really all you're seeking, tell him what you think he wants to hear."

But I can't lie to him. Christ. Why does it seem that everyone's asking me to do things I just simply cannot do?

"Chris?"

"There's nothing you can do?"

Silence, save for one heavy breath. "I might be able to do something for you, but... I might not be able to in time. Don't count on it." Another pregnant pause. "Chris, if he keeps mutating at this rate, he's going to... Can you do what needs to be done if he loses control?"

I decided instantly to not tell Leon about the other day. "I can handle him. I just need help getting him healthy."

Silence always seems to abound between us. "I'll try, Chris. But I can promise nothing. You might not even want to remember this conversation."

"Of course." I go to hang up before I catch myself, "Hey, Kennedy... Thanks."

Snapping the disposable phone shut, I make my way back to the room, determined to get Piers' mind back to a good place.

If I can just keep my own mind in a good place.


End file.
